Nothing More Than We Need
by rhinestonecowboy
Summary: Happily ever after is a real but ever-evolving target. Caroline and Eleanor continue to work, grow, learn, and earn their inevitable storybook ending. Only signed reviews will remain published.
1. Chapter 1

_This is a small addition to and rearrangement of the Nothing More story. Now we start (about a month or so earlier) from Eleanor's point of view - the last two chapters are what were previously posted from Caroline's perspective, at the hotel bar. The story isn't writing itself in a very chronological fashion, I'm sorry. The Christmas vignette pre-dates this story, and there's another interstitial in progress with Celia's death that really ties everything together. The resolution at the end of everything is hidden from me until that's complete. I always suspected it would be fun but confusing to time travel. Also - at the end of this is a short synopsis of Caroline and Eleanor's journey. :-)_

* * *

Eleanor flew up the grey cement stairs and through the great arched wooden doors at the entrance of the Agnes Bates School of Music. Her coat billowed behind her, a black silk cloak trailing her like a shadow. As though it were late afternoon and the sun before her breaking over the high peak of the stone building that swallowed her up, rather than early evening. She smiled at the two young men holding the doors, dazzling white gratitude and a nod to each, though she noticed little more than their matching ginger hair and grey suits.

She was late. Very late. Late wasn't Eleanor's preferred status. Though she tried to calm herself, it upset her. Even more than the cryptic message from her gynecologist that had come through as she bustled off the train, and had paid as much attention to as the young, small boys. But she'd heard enough to frown at her phone and wish she hadn't missed the call.

Now she stood in shadow off a musty side corridor at Caroline's school, leaning against the dark wood paneling and catching her breath. Ahead she heard the demure roar of a merry but polite crowd celebrating themselves under coffered, vaulted ceilings.

She stood tall, shoulders back, and pulled at the hem and waist of her charcoal pencil skirt. She re-tucked her shirt and rearranged her bra. The chill autumn wind hadn't calmed with the coming of evening, and she'd rushed from the station. Everything about her was amiss. She pulled out a compact and orbited it around her head with one hand while she adjusted her auburn-brown hair with a fluff here and a pull there. She'd fixed her makeup on the train and it had held well enough.

Eleanor leaned back once more against the wall. She closed her eyes and brought the distant voices and energy closer to her, slipped into the stream of celebration and let it move through her until it washed away the hard, harried, professional Eleanor who'd just run through the doors. She shook her head, quietly practiced a casual laugh until it sounded as it should, and let a smile come to her lips.

A matching set of girls greeted her the soaring wooden doors to the great hall where Caroline's ambition was assembled. A teeming, anxious crowd of glittering parents and donors to laud the launch of the Agnes Bates capital campaign. Caroline's great strategic gamble and the initiative to remodel and revive that would sink or save the school.

They didn't even have money for a dinner. But Caroline had scraped grandeur, suggestions of generous philanthropy, and pomp from the edges. Crystal champagne flutes dominated the landscape and Eleanor swept one from a passing tray immediately. The hall glowed warm yellow, and the air smelled familiar and exhausting, like clean and money. Underneath it all she heard the tinkle of a piano.

The night was well underway. She gave a silent thank you, because a heavy waiting in the room and the checked volume of conversation told her she hadn't missed Caroline's talk, though it would come soon. She hoped to see her before the program began. She hadn't seen her in a week. She hadn't heard from her all day, hadn't spoken to her since yesterday evening.

" _Are you excited? Are you nervous?"_

" _Yep."_

" _Don't be. You'll be brilliant."_

There she was. Across the room. A flash of blonde and a magnetism, people facing a certain way. Facing the center of power at this particular little universe. Heads all held at a fascinated angle, attention focused around a woman she couldn't see but knew would be Caroline when her line of sight cleared. A couple stepped aside. The man put an arm through the woman's elbow, their expressions eager and solicitous toward another couple standing in another circle, waiting to welcome them.

Before her opened a direct path to Caroline. A clear view of her wife. And a clear view of the tall, dark-skinned, dark-haired, dark-eyed and admirable woman standing next to her, hand draped on Caroline's bare shoulder as they laughed together, pitch rising and falling in tandem, at something that must have been terribly clever, or amusing, or awful, said by a short man flanking the pair.

It must have been something amusing. Their expressions were too pleasant for it to have been awful. There was no surprise to it at all. Just reflexive ease and practice.

Eleanor stood with cold hands, numb face, and leaden feet. Any sense of momentum and energy from her dash across town evaporated. Another waiter breezed by, floating through islands of conversation and pausing near Caroline. The lithe woman with the willowy gestures, Eleanor's age but somehow unwrinkled, finally removed her hand from Caroline long enough to grab a glass of champagne and hand it to Eleanor's wife with another comfortable smile.

Caroline returned the smile and it wasn't the donor smile. Instead on her wife's face sat fat, satisfied acknowledgement of expected gratitude fulfilled. _'Of course I'll have champagne, and of course you'll take care of that for me, and of course I'm grateful.'_

Caroline had expected another woman to do for her. She hadn't asked for it or been surprised by it. She'd _expected_ it. Eleanor would have expected all this as well, if it had been Beverley by Caroline's side. In fact Eleanor would have been very put out if Caroline had not given Beverley such a look. Had not touched her wrist with affection in the way she touched this other woman's wrist with a smile just now. But it was not Beverley by her side, receiving everyday affections.

She'd assumed that Caroline had been spending her endless late nights lonely and brooding. Perhaps this wasn't the case. Eleanor's temper flared and she sought a distraction before it got the better of her. She turned and searched the room for just the right – _there_.

"Colin." She held up a hand and raised her voice. Raised it just enough to be noticed, but not to be impolite. Just far enough above the babble that anyone who didn't know she was listening, perhaps Caroline, would hear her, turn her head, and see her wife from across the room. She drifted over and exchanged an enthusiastic and heart-felt hug with an old friend. Any old friend would do, though she was particularly happy to see this one. Colin was adept at one sided conversation, never put out when his companion let him to do the heavy lifting.

He prattled and Eleanor waited to feel Caroline's eyes. She waited to feel the high, lyrical song of her voice in her ears. She waited to feel the cool inoculation of peace brought by a single, simple touch. She waited. As she waited, many thoughts crossed her mind. She felt things other than Caroline's absence. She felt guilt, anger, need, and frustration. Anxiety at the curves where her thoughts tapered into the future and the unknown before they circled back around to the now.

Back to Caroline, and the beautiful master cellist at her side, with those lean, skilled, nimble hands. Flora's favorite teacher at Agnes Bates, Flora's mentor. Flora's hero. Bright-eyed, brilliant, subtle, modest and most of all _present_ every single day, Jean Danforth. There were so many words you could use to describe Jean that you couldn't to describe Eleanor.

At the front of her mind she heard Colin's voice rise word over word, pause, diminish word over word, and then pause again. Instinctively, she laughed – a knowing laugh was the right one, because the joke, comment, or observation had been understated. She wasn't sure which of these type of remarks it had been. She'd only read his tone, his eyes, and his gestures. By now, that was enough. She followed her instincts further. Breeding, training, instincts, all the same when it came to people and small talk and charm. She raised her glass at him and gave a wink. "Colin if it weren't for you I'd give up anything social at all. Promise you'll never stop supporting Agnes Bates. I'd die of boredom if you did."

Eleanor smiled and met his eyes and saw delight. She'd done well. She put more joy and emphasis in it as she leaned toward him. Unless you meant it, this was all meaningless and offensive. It was phony if you didn't mean it, and Eleanor was not a phony. No one who was anyone liked flattery, and more importantly in this case, no one donated to phonies – unless you had power over them. Eleanor had both sincerity and power.

The curve of her thoughts rushed away again. She was many things, had many things. But she wasn't subtle. And she wasn't home often enough, even before Caroline had started trying to remove herself. And most painfully, she didn't look like Flora in any way, and she certainly couldn't teach her the cello. Eleanor had many things, but beautiful Jean in her beautiful crème dress had _different_ things.

Caroline had not come to Eleanor as she talked with Colin. She turned again. It was impossible at these things, when you had work to do and people wanted to talk to you, to get anywhere. It would have been hard for Caroline to cross the room, and so Eleanor started toward her.

The waiting in the air was becoming unbearable. The infrequent blanket of silence that came and went with the crowd came at increasing intervals. She had little time left before Caroline started speaking. She wondered if Caroline had seen her. It was important to her that her wife knew she was there. Eleanor wanted to be there, and Caroline wanted her there. But today she wondered why. Assurance? Pride? Comfort? A demonstration of independence? Or was it a test?

Caroline looked up, but not toward Eleanor. A dozen people over from where Caroline stood, Jean had caught her eye instead. Pulled her eye to her, would be more accurate. Eleanor watched as Caroline's chin came up just a few millimeters. She watched as Jean's eyes widened and her lips curved only a little, and her gaze traveled to the domineering oak grandfather clock at the head of the room, a silent message. Caroline's eyes followed, and her chin came down twice as the women caught each other again. And Eleanor watched – she stared and studied and she gaped and she obsessed, as a smile lit the other woman's face and her eyes narrowed and her nose twitched to close the unspoken conversation and reassure Eleanor's wife, _'you'll do fine.'_

"No." Above all the others Eleanor shouted. In her mind, she roared. Out loud, she said nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

Caroline was so well-spoken, everything she dreamed for the school so well thought out and well laid-out in her address. They'd make their campaign goal early, Eleanor was certain. In two years she would be standing at a reception very much like this one toasting success. That was plain to see in every admiring eye cast toward the podium. Pride shining off the board members as though they stood under a warm, confident and profitable sun. Counting their blessings and congratulating themselves on their wisdom in following such a true northern star as she schemed to add another notch of success to her belt.

Applause swelled and died. The volume of the music came up again. Waiters reappeared and the crowd scattered to renew their self-affirmations. Eleanor moved to her wife with intention and haste. She tapped shoulders and parted friendly seas until she faced her and wrapped her in possessive arms. Inappropriate for the moment, but inevitable for Eleanor's need.

"You're wonderful. I'm so proud of you. And I love you." Anger could wait. Caroline had done nothing wrong - explicitly wrong - yet. Eleanor heard the pebbles tumbling down the dark, vacuous precipice at her feet, but knew they had not yet fallen off the edge.

"Thank you, darling." Caroline chuckled and untangled herself with a flash of a frown, quickly corrected with a smile. "Have you been here long?"

' _Long enough to see what I needed to see._ ' "Long enough to watch you be brilliant, and long enough to make sure that wily, stingy Judy Rathbone who's been dogging you will be giving you a call next week."

Caroline's brow hit the bottom of her neat bangs. "No."

"Yes. Your wife's a miracle worker - don't forget." What could Eleanor be, other than herself, even if it was everything Caroline didn't want at the moment?

Caroline nodded and smiled. So indulgent. "She is."

Eleanor leaned in to kiss Caroline on the cheek, and with a whisper, "But I see, in fact, that you have forgotten who I am. We'll talk later."

Caroline laughed and her mirth went nowhere near her eyes. "Oh. Yes. _Fine_."

Enough for now. "You have loads left to do tonight. You're in demand, as you should be. Get on with it." Eleanor turned to a stranger at Caroline's side and beamed. "I don't believe we've met. I'm Eleanor Strathclyde."

On the evening went, until Eleanor saw her opportunity. The crowd thinned. She trailed subtle Jean Danforth out of the hall, down an unlit corridor and into the administrative wing. This war would be fought on multiple fronts. Best to clear the battlefields before your opponents had time to dig in.

Eleanor lingered along the wall in the dark, and waited for her to reemerge with her belongings and head to the loo before heading home. She didn't have to wait long. She slipped in behind Jean before the door closed. She remained silent for a moment as the other woman locked the stall door and shuffled.

"How long have you been teaching here, Jean?"

She heard her start, cough, and saw her heels skitter on the tile floor. Nasty trick, giving another woman a shock in the loo. Nasty, but effective.

"Umm. I'm sorry. Just a moment – ?" Jean spoke as beautifully as her cello. Smooth and sonorous.

"It's Eleanor. Caroline's wife." She began to rummage in her purse and pulled out a lipstick. Deep red and just right.

More shuffling, flushing, shuffling again, and then, there was Jean. She stepped forward and washed her hands as Eleanor, standing next to her, leaned into the mirror and applied the lipstick she'd chosen specially for the occasion. She caught Jean's eye in the reflection and stared expectantly, waiting for response.

"I've been here five years - Eleanor."

"Three with Caroline at the helm, yes?

"That sounds right."

"Do you enjoy it? Let's be honest. Caroline's a bitch. It can't be easy to work for her." _A magnificent bitch, and mine._

Jean turned to Eleanor. She opened her wide, soft, brown, beautiful lips to speak, and Eleanor held up a finger. She snapped the cap back onto her lipstick and dropped it in her bag.

"Jean, I think you like working for my wife."

"Well – yes." The other woman shifted her weight and scowled.

"I think you like it quite a bit."

"I don't think I understand – "

Eleanor pursed her lips and scowled back. "No, I think you _do_ understand." She put her hands on the lapels of the other woman's navy overcoat and ran them down to where the buttons began, down toward the deep and open V of the dress underneath.

She smiled up at Jean, who was taller than Eleanor, even in her heels. She slid her hands back up again, and this time with a much firmer grasp took hold of the sky-blue silk scarf tucked into the jacket, creating an illusion of modesty over the dress. She pulled the scarf loose and ran it through her fingers, across the platinum wedding band on her left hand, the diamond anniversary band on her right. "This is lovely."

"Yes – " The other woman edged backward. Not even a step. Just a millimeter. Just enough for Eleanor to follow and to know when she'd won the advantage.

"It looked so especially lovely, so perfect every time you stood next to Caroline tonight, didn't it? So complementary, a wonderful way to bring out those stunning, sexy, striking blue eyes of hers."

Jean's lips set in a line. "Eleanor –"

Another silencing finger met her protest. "No. You don't need to thank me for the compliment. I'm just observing what a lovey scarf this is, how fetching it is, and perfect to wear on a night like tonight. And what an absolute shame that it's ruined."

With that, she brought the middle of the scarf to her lips and took it between them. She left a perfect kiss before she repeated the the action twice more at either end. She draped it back around Jean's neck before the other woman even reacted.

Slow to catch on. Caroline really needed to raise her standards. She finished with a pat on Jean's shoulder and a scrunch-nosed smile, a nice imitation of Jean's from earlier in the evening.

"Drive home safely." She let the door swish closed behind her as she made her way toward the central staircase and Caroline's office.

* * *

"You're telling me to calm down? I watched another woman eye-fuck my wife in public. That doesn't get calm from me." The school was quiet, dark and empty and Caroline's office on the second floor isolated and dim. It felt right to Eleanor to raise her voice now as she paced, and it filled the space.

Caroline did not raise hers in response. "Don't be so _dramatic_. I mean, I really, _really_ can't see what you're upset about. In fact, you should be glad I've got competent people on the faculty who care about the school, and care about our success enough to help me out at a fundraiser."

"And your success. _Your_ success."

"Of course, my success." Caroline's fingers trailed the edges of the black walnut of her massive desk as she skirted it, traveling away from Eleanor.

Eleanor stood in place. She did not chase people like a slobbering puppy dog. "That's what I don't want. That's why I'm shouting right now. Because Jean cares about the school, but she cares about a lot more than that. She cares about you."

"And that's a bad thing how?" Caroline sat with a puff of air into her great leather chair, slouched into it and closed her eyes. She removed her glasses and rubbed at the bridge of her nose.

The tip of Eleanor's heel crept forward on the faded red and gold oriental rug and she stilled the impulse to approach Caroline. "Because that's not her job. That's my job, and it's Beverley's job, and the job of many, many people who are not Jean Danforth." It was predictable that Caroline would be stressed and stretched, between work and grief. But it didn't giver her permission to break the rules.

"Mmmmm. Well, it's _my_ job, isn't it, to employ people who, shall we extend the analogy, 'show up for work?'"

That aggression. That anger, come back around again after Celia's death. It hadn't been in Caroline for years and it caught Eleanor on the chin.

"Why are you so angry at me?" The question was more than fair. By all rights Eleanor was the one who ought to be angry. She'd done everything Caroline had asked of her – another fair point - "I've done everything you've asked of me. I've stepped back at work. I'm home now, more. Much more. And you've gone and turned the tables. You're never home. You're holed up here, and that's fine I suppose in a way, because Flora can be with you. She's not suffering for it."

"Mmmm hmmmm. Flora is fine. More than fine. So what's your problem?"

"I'm suffering for it, Caroline. I'm suffering."

Caroline fixed her with a sharp, cool blue look and an invisible sneer, a retort Eleanor saw and heard at a cellular level. _'And that's what I wanted. Now you know.'_

"When did it become acceptable for you to be cruel to me?"

"When you started responding only to threats, and not pleas. When you dismissed me and how badly I wanted you to stay close." Caroline looked down at her desk blotter and tapped her glasses on it.

Eleanor studied Caroline's dark roots and the grey coming into them. "I did what you asked. I tried to do what you wanted. I took a leave to be with you – to be there for you, after Celia died. But over the last few months, every step I took closer, you backed away."

"Now - now, Eleanor. You're trying _now_. Not for the years I needed you. It's how hard you're trying now, when you wouldn't before, it's that I had to practically blackmail you into paying attention to me."

"That's not even an exaggeration. It's a flat out lie. You've probably been repeating it to yourself until it rang true." Eleanor didn't stop herself from approaching Caroline this time, and leaned across the desk. She didn't stop herself from pointing either. And now at least Caroline had deigned to look up at her. She didn't need to respond, the truculent curl of her lips and chilled eyes confessing.

"You didn't, suffer for my fulfillment, Caroline. You did fine. You're doing fine." She gestured around the office, invoking Caroline's risky career move that everyone knew would come up roses, because her wife did nothing that didn't scream and prove excellence. "Flora did fine. We did well – as a family. It was a problem we navigated. As you do in a marriage, and when you love each other. You compromise and manage – and you move in the same direction – which we did."

And they had been happy. There was no way Eleanor had made that up. Sometimes they had been ecstatic. The year Flora had been accepted to this very music school right here in Harrogate. The year June had been married, the trip to America and the two weeks they'd spent with Ginika. The year they'd gone to India over the summer, spent a month inseparable as a family and engaged in each other and the wonders of the world. Seeing places for the very first time together, falling in love together with shared sights, passions, and more and more with each other and their family.

Caroline seemed only tired in her response. "Are we still moving in the same direction?"

They'd had everything. They'd been joyful in a way Eleanor didn't even know existed, with a texture and a depth to it she'd never thought possible. This current state – the way things were today. After Celia's death. The new job. Caroline's retreat into herself, running away from Eleanor faster than she could keep up. Pushing Eleanor out and seeking comfort – if that's all it was – elsewhere. It was a familiar silence and isolation echoing back through the ages from Eleanor's youth. An ache of memory and a familiar loneliness that would have crushed her, but for the bulkhead of bliss she'd built in the years between. Built with Caroline and Flora.

And now. What served Eleanor now, as Caroline waited for her to respond? The truth, or what she wanted the truth to be? "Yes, Caroline. We are still moving in the same direction."

Caroline stood without a word. She crossed the office and gathered her coat and bag and stood next to Eleanor in front of the desk. She didn't look at Eleanor, or she wouldn't. Eleanor chastised herself for making the wrong choice in her response, and then immediately forgave herself. Because there was no right answer to that question. Caroline had already made up her mind. Again, the ancient incarnation of her wife returned, unilateral and determined.

"I don't think I see it that way."

Fine. There would be no reconciliation tonight. But Eleanor wasn't about to let another woman step in the way of a future détente. She would battle anyone to the death to protect what she had, would probably have to battle Caroline for it the hardest. There was no room for interlopers. This one had already caused enough damage.

"That hurts. But I can accept that, because I can work with that. We can work with that. But what I can't work with is you going outside the marriage. You can't have another woman, Caroline. For anything. Not her. Not right now. It's dangerous. I won't let you."

' _Won't you? Will you stop me?'_ The question bloomed redolent of sarcasm in Caroline's eyes, teasing and taunting Eleanor. Would Eleanor punish Caroline for sins she'd forgiven from her first wife? She gave Caroline credit for the silence, could see her half-hearted attempt to do right and not speak her retort. She caught that effort and grabbed hold, grabbed tight.

Caroline measuring her. Buffeting her with a disaffected attitude, daring her to reject her. That was old hat. "You've tested me with Jean. To see if I cared. To see if I've been paying attention. Don't pretend. Have I passed?"

And now something Eleanor did not expect. Caroline dropped her bag and her coat on to the floor. She darted a hand to Eleanor's arm and Eleanor almost fell into the other woman, losing her footing as Caroline dragged her forward. She snaked an arm around Eleanor's hip and pulled them together. Eleanor frowned – "Wait."

Caroline kissed her, and it hurt, her teeth smashing Eleanor's and the hand at her hip now a claw. Caroline pushed forward and moved farther into Eleanor, who put her hand back against the desk, and used it as leverage to plant the other in Caroline's stomach and push her wife away.

Caroline touched her index finger to her smeared lipstick. "No, Eleanor. In fact, you haven't passed." She turned on her heel and bent to the floor, snatched up her belongings and stalked out, long strides pulling at her skirt. "You'll want to follow me out. I'll be setting the alarm."


	3. Chapter 3

_six weeks later_

* * *

The daylight faded quickly this time of year. As she sat at the bar plucking at a black paper napkin, a waiter paused in his bustle to raise the evening lights. The change prompted Caroline to look up and she caught sight of the woman she was here to meet. There was no mistaking her. No missing her. She stood apart from everyone else, and made them look dull.

She finished her glass of wine and it clinked against the polished maple bar as she set it down. It was a bright, light, pinot that contrasted starkly with the heavy, damp Harrogate winter evening. An offset – rather than a complement. She'd thought that out when she ordered. It was a deliberate choice. One as contrary to her intrinsic wants as agreeing to the meet the long-haired, shining brunette approaching from across the hotel lobby.

She raised two fingers to the bartender and tilted her chin back at his nod before she stood and turned to greet her. Usually the hotel played a soulless Europop blend in the early evening. But not always. Tonight, as though they knew something Caroline did not, it was jazz standards. She sniffed, pulled her shoulders back, and killed the smile that came to her lips as a reflex whenever her thoughts passed even casually over Eleanor.

She stopped short only inches from Caroline. Close enough to warm the air between them with her breath and close enough for Caroline to note the subtle hues of grey and blue in the circles under her brown eyes. Eleanor's body tensed this way and that. It wasn't hard to see her fighting the same instincts Caroline was at this very moment. To offer a hug or a kiss or a physical connection or affirmation of any sort.

They settled for an exchange of thin-lipped smiles and took adjoining barstools.

"It's good to see you."

"Is it?" Caroline looked only at her scarlet red wine and ran her index fingers around the rim at the base of the stem. Nick poured with a heavy hand. She wouldn't lie and say it wasn't part of the reason she'd said yes to meeting at the West Park, when she knew her hotel was a bad idea. It had been that, and the fact that the women here were all very pleasant to look at. More than anything else she was surprised by the fact that she'd started noticing other women already. Not just noticing them. Wanting them.

"You know it is. Seeing you is the best part of my day. I've missed it. And you."

"I used to know that was true. I used to feel like I knew everything about you."

"Isn't growing, changing – learning new things about ourselves and each other – part of what you do in a marriage?"

"It is. But there are still things that can feel like lies when they come out late – later." Caroline slanted her head to the side, and missed the flow of long blonde hair. Her new close crop still shocked her. She raised her brow over still blue eyes.

Eleanor nodded as she spoke and didn't look at her. "I know. After you feel like no one in the world could know more about your wife than you do? Not their parents – not their very closest friends? When you feel that in some ways you know them better than they know themselves." She paused. "Tell me then – something I don't know about myself. Because you do know me better than anyone, Caroline. And you know I didn't mean to surprise you. I'm sorry."

Caroline looked over finally, and the penitence she'd forced so many times on to the face opposite hers was written into the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and the set of her mouth.

She retreated back into herself. She stared at the dark oak floor. Denying the hurt she could see so plainly, and elevating her own pain above it, grew steadily more difficult. She'd known it would. She knew all this would happen the minute she'd typed 'yes' into her mobile. She'd known and she'd agreed anyway, because their daughter Flora, of all people, had insisted. Her isolation and withdrawal from the family had begun as a voluntary, willing exile, and evolved into self-righteous defiance. She supposed no one raised by her own hand would ever stand for that kind of behavior very long.

"Okay." Caroline hauled her eyes up from the floor. Past the trim ankles, past the thighs crossed over each other and the black slacks pulled against them, hinting at the curve of muscle beneath. Up over the swell of the thin white and black polka-dot blouse, to where the last two buttons lay undone against always warm skin. She lingered on the peaks and valleys and angles of a slender neck and the imperceptible rise and fall of the fine gold chain of the necklace. A wedding gift. Lifting and resting again with the steady pulse pounding out blood under the canvas of Eleanor's full body.

"You should know this, if you don't already. It's you though, Eleanor, so you probably do. But I know it too. Everybody watches when you walk by. Everyone glances at least once. Sometimes twice, as though they couldn't help it – because someone that compelling must be important. They have to check, because they might get to go home later and say, 'you'll never guess who I saw. In person.'"

"That's a flattering thought." Eleanor swirled the wine in her glass and stared down into the eddy before drinking. "But I'm not important - am I? Not to them anyway."

Caroline hadn't wanted to assure her, but she knew she had, and she accepted it. She slid her hand over the long fingers resting next to hers. She didn't resume the eye contact she'd broken, out of the shame of the bald honesty of her observation.

"And no matter who might look at me, Caroline, I'm only ever looking at you."

Caroline closed her eyes as she felt the familiar, dexterous fingers wrap hers with a firm hold.

"Are you?" She flicked her head and gaze sharply up and over.

"Yes." Contrition gone now, her wife's eyes fixed hard on hers.

A corner of Caroline's mouth came up as she tired of fighting her smile. Tired of reinforcing her skepticism and separation. "Are you – really? Only looking at me?"

"Yes. And I'll tell you something about yourself, as well. It's one of the reasons why you're with me, Caroline. Because other people notice me."

"I'm not sure how I feel about that. Makes me sound rather shallow."

"That's because you are. But you're so many other things as well. Things that more than make up for it." Eleanor lifted their entwined hands to her mouth and kissed Caroline's knuckles. Her lips were full and soft. She left just a hint of gloss on Caroline's skin and Caroline felt the warm imprint cool as their hands, still mingled, returned to the bar. "When you walk across a room, Caroline, I always look at you twice."

"Hmmmm." Her well of vulnerability dried up, and she tilted her wine glass high in the air. The pinot remained a perfect contrast. A cab, even a zin would cloy to her mouth tonight and weigh her down.

"Have I allowed you enough time to punish me?"

 _Yes. And myself._ Caroline felt the slip of her resolve built momentum. She slid her hand away, back to worry at the small, square bar napkin.

She wouldn't be alone tonight. Her surprise at this idea became revelation. All the women she'd been noticing, wanting, were nothing, just - avatars. She considered seriously now the opportunity to replace their two-dimensional promise with fulfillment from their flesh and blood inspiration next to her. Disappointment at her inability to hold tight to her anger blew apart. Manic anticipation of the dance playing out to an end she'd been forcing away, but hoping for in all her hazy hidden corners of optimism, filled her to the tips of her fingers. For now, she drew a curtain across her need.

"I can see that I have given you enough space - maybe too much. You're pointing that jagged knife of yours right at your own heart, Caroline. Hiding behind anger at me because your own guilt is too raw."

She felt Eleanor's resentment now, though nothing in her face had given it away. There was still a tether connecting them. It was invisible, but it could still be cut, still snap. Tight, fine strands pinging away one by one and drifting off into nothing. She felt their intimacy as palpable as ever, but already unfamiliar and tentative around the edges. "You do know me, don't you?"

"Every inch. Inside and out." Repentance was a thing of the past now, and even insistence had moved on from the dark, knowing eyes watching her. Only eager hunger remained. Caroline wondered if her expression betrayed her own want. They'd never been so far apart for so long.

"That's something, I suppose."

"It's everything, I think. Will you let me keep knowing you? Even better, perhaps? Because it's all I've wanted since I first saw you all those years ago, striding down the corridor of Sulgrave Heath to welcome me."

The same early morning memory reeled through Caroline's own mind, shown from her own perspective and worn but not faded for its age. A beam of sun had been spilling through the window in front of the other woman, obscuring her in the shadow beyond, until Caroline had come right up on her.

"Yes. I will."

"Tonight?"

"Yes. Tonight. Please."

Quickly Eleanor took Caroline's hand. Her grasp was even firmer than before. She pulled her along with her as she stood. She brushed past her and their hips slid over each other. She floated on toward the lobby and the lifts, her arm extended out to its fullest length as she edged forward. But she didn't release her grasp or ease the pressure of her fingers against Caroline's palm.

Caroline tossed her glass all the way back and replaced it with another clink on the bar. She waved at the black-haired bartender.

"On your room, Ms. Dawson?"

"Yep. Thanks, Nick."

"Night then."

Her partner tugged her forward again, assuming control of Caroline she willingly gave. She rushed to ease Eleanor's pull until they were close once more.


	4. Chapter 4

The only sounds registered as they'd shuffled together across the short buff carpet of the hotel room were their own exclamations and insistences, practical sounds of zippers and slacks slung over chairs, shoes rolling and heels clacking against table legs, and sheets ripped back and slipping from the bed to the floor. Until the thick fog of tension and lust was cut and cleared, there would be nothing else.

Now, Eleanor's knees drifted upward toward the top of Caroline's tousled blonde head. Caroline squeezed Eleanor's thighs and unwound her hands from them. She clutched Eleanor's ankles and drove them into the mattress before easing her grasp upward over long legs to the other woman's sides. She slid her thumbs over the yielding, hidden, soft spike of her hip bones.

As was her routine, often as Caroline luxuriated and delayed in her work, Eleanor might run her fingers through her thick hair. Gentle, distracted and absent, grasping and gathering. Locks shorn, she instead moved them to Caroline's freckled shoulders and kneaded with long, practiced strokes. For Eleanor, a familiar movement of habit and muscle memory that tonight confessed anxious deprivation.

Caroline's pulse hastened with the change. She lost her patience. She wanted to feel and hear Eleanor, now. To know she'd taken the other woman as far as she could. Left her vulnerable and wrung from her any last drop of pretense. She quickened with Eleanor's hands.

Then, Caroline's shoulders were abandoned. Eleanor dug her nails into the short mop at the back of Caroline's head and raked them slowly upward in tandem with their bodies as she rose, tensed, froze – and gasped - before sighing out a final, deep, halting contraction.

Eleanor's hips collapsed back on to the bed. She drew one hand upward. Sometimes this was to cover her mouth and muffle her cries, sometimes it rested over her eyes as she giggled. The other always remained on the back of Caroline's neck. The hair on Caroline's forearm stiffened as the tips of Eleanor's fingers twitched and danced at the bristle of her hairline.

She wondered where Eleanor's other hand lay tonight. Were her mouth and lips pulled inward, jaw tight? Was her head turned on the pillow, as she stared into nothing? Eyes open but unseeing - folded into herself and flooded with reflexive solitude after the heady overdose of intimacy?

Blind and satisfied, Caroline smiled, spun out a profound exhale, and stayed buried, still and warm. She felt Eleanor's steamy pulse racing against her knuckles, and the tender crush of her involuntary spasms. The silence in the room came to her, disconcerting. Almost always they made love with music. On occasion, loud, fast, and pounding in tandem. More often quiet and becoming unknown until it was all over, when it drifted back into their consciousness softly, as though it had never gone.

A breath in and out, then another and another, a hushed cocoon surrounding them. Another breath, and then a car horn blared from the street below. Down the hallway, a door slammed shut. Caroline felt the moment change and finally moved up on to her elbows to cover Eleanor's comfortable stomach in idle kisses.

She crawled upward until she rested in the hollow of Eleanor's arm, gloriously happy, half-covering her with her body, arms and legs across them both. Up and down she floated with the rise and fall of Eleanor's chest, slowing to a final, steady rhythm. Eleanor's forearm lay over her brow, and in the dark shadows Caroline could not tell if her eyes were open or shut.

They hovered in stupor between sleep and carelessness. Finally, Eleanor stirred beside her. She turned and began to nip and kiss at Caroline's jaw and chin. She didn't bring her body over Caroline's until her mouth was well below her chest and did not meet her gaze or lips on the way down. Eleanor sighed and whimpered and suddenly came to life with a demanding passion evidenced by hands and hips that pushed and thrusted, until Caroline rolled all the way on to her back.

"Hey." Her voice was a whisper as she lifted the curtain of Eleanor's wavy brown-auburn hair and sharply tilted her hip upward to gain her attention.

But Eleanor didn't look up.

"Eleanor." Voice still soft. Caroline grabbed Eleanor's firm biceps and stopped her movement.

"No." Eleanor broke through Caroline's grasp. She came up onto her knees, tight at Caroline's sides, and sat back on her heels. She captured Caroline's hands and fell forward, pinning them to the bed. Petulant and aggressive, she glided down until she could not hold Caroline's hands anymore, and controlled her body through a hot storm of kisses rained over the narrow valley between Caroline's stomach and legs.

Again Caroline tried to shift and slow Eleanor's advance, grasping the jumbled white sheets and pushing herself upward toward the headboard.

Eleanor responded with a palm splayed across Caroline's chest, forcing her down and down further still as Eleanor put her weight into it and came up at last to drill her brown eyes into Caroline's searching blue.

"No. Don't stop me Caroline. I don't care what you want. I'll have what I want right now. You owe me that, and I'm going to take it."

"Eleanor." Caroline frowned.

"Don't say Eleanor like you mean it - and don't pretend every part of you was in this room ten minutes ago." Eleanor punctuated her sentence with sorties, sending her mouth down to graze Caroline's arms, shoulders, breast, and neck.

Tears bit Caroline's eyes and she twisted her head on the pillow, as she'd pictured Eleanor's earlier.

Eleanor took both of Caroline's hips, her grip so firm it shocked Caroline. She thought about all the times they'd had sex – apart from making love – sex - as it was most simply, physical and circumspect. It was impossible to know them all, ten years of memories. But within that tapestry this thread Eleanor now wove was of a brand-new color. Not that they had never been rough with each other. But it was always playful, sporting. Tonight, Eleanor was not playing. Caroline felt a thrill of guilt and a rush of lust.

Her introspection shattered into a kaleidoscope of pleasures and pains as one of Eleanor's cool hands took clear possession of Caroline's body.

She felt Eleanor's lips, delicate at her ear. "Just give me this, Caroline. Let me have you."

Caroline forced a sharp exhale, enough to give her lungs space to bring air in and respond, as Eleanor continued to ebb and flow within her and without. Tears stood in her eyes and were shed as she blinked. Her eyelashes lay wet against Eleanor's cheek.

"Will it be enough?"

"We'll make it enough."

Caroline nodded, silent, and Eleanor exploded into a frenzy that left her in a daze, an inanimate object of desire – but only for a moment.

She kindled whatever embers of loneliness, hurt, and want were nearest in her mind and met Eleanor measure for measure, stroke for stroke, plea for plea, cry, and roar until they crashed down together again. She pictured them from above – Eleanor draped over her, her long hair plastered and damp across Caroline's slick chest as they lay singular and heaving, an undefinable time and reality created and exchanged between them. Caroline traced languid fingers up and down Eleanor's bare back until they both fell into sleep.

* * *

She roused early while the world was still caught in the dusky dawn. Gently she lifted Caroline's arm and slid to the edge of the bed. Caroline didn't stir, and she laid a kiss at her temple before she stood. She picked up the navy chenille blanket laying askew over the end of the bed and wrapped it around her as she walked to the window.

Eleanor took the pale, sheer curtain in two fingers and pulled it back just enough to study the green of the city square just three floors below. On the other side of the thick glass the rain fell silent. But umbrellas in all shades of black stared up at her, like the pupils of eyes as vacant as Caroline's had so often been this last year.

The pound of flesh Caroline had cut away and sent to the grave with Celia had exposed a wide artery of flint that met every subsequent contact with a spark. The raging wildfire that had licked and burned them last night was a direct result of the brush fires Caroline had sent spinning off at every turn, every time Eleanor had tried to fight her way through the grief and anger defining her wife's unresolved world.

The harsh reality of Caroline's unchecked temper, truculence and indolence was a scorching memory to relive. So much had calmed since their early days, when she'd first come across her wife. Then a vibrating ball of terror careening and ripping like a comet through life.

Time and again she'd met Caroline's fire with platitudes, praise and patience until they forged a tempered life together. It wasn't that Eleanor didn't have the strength to do so again, more that she'd become content in the peace. It had taken her too long to warm to the idea and accept the change. By then Caroline had shoved Eleanor back on her heels, cast her out, and cajoled herself into isolation. Last month she'd removed herself to this ridiculous hotel to mope and wallow.

Worn and lonely, Eleanor had made an unforced error, a misstep that Caroline took as an affirmation of her implosion. Last night – had it been a step forward? She wasn't sure. Even Eleanor knew her body couldn't solve this problem. Perhaps, though, they had slacked Caroline's pain just enough to pass through it together and into a space big enough to hold them both.

The curtain swished as she ran her hand down and away. She dropped the blanket, turned and walked back over to where her wife lay heavy on the bed. She folded herself down beside her and curled back into her, Caroline's arm circling her without a break in her breathing or even a flutter of her eyelids.

Eleanor closed her eyes and wished, and resolved herself for them both.


	5. Chapter 5

_A brief synopsis of the journey to Nothing More_

* * *

LTIH – Season 4 Imagined

A little more than a year after Kate's sudden death, Caroline has settled into an emotionally unfulfilling routine. She has Flora to fill her nights and weekends, Lawrence to stomp in and out of the house, Celia and Alan to bring an occasional smile, and Gillian to keep her frustrated and distracted. She has a job that challenges her and makes her feel accomplished, or at least as accomplished as she might be in Harrogate.

But Caroline doesn't have it all. Every start with the 'lesbian lifestyle' she's made has been a false one. And deep down, she desperately wants to know what it means to live fully as the woman she's long wanted to be.

Jane Hayden is a detective for DC Metro in Harrogate, assigned to Kate's hit and run case. When it's all concluded, she asks Caroline out. She's more than willing to give the sporty woman with the black hair and kind brown eyes a try. But Jane's timing couldn't be worse. Because Eleanor Strathclyde, influential board member at Sulgrave Heath, has long known how badly she wants Caroline and decides the time is right to make a move. A match for Caroline turn for turn, the dark auburn-haired, milk-chocolate-eyed Eleanor gets what she wants.

It's not a protracted battle. Jane sees the writing on the wall and, a collector of good friends of all sorts, convinces Caroline to stick around and see what it might be like to have a best friend. To the very end of the Imagined Series, Jane proves her point about friendship and her worth several times over.

Now Caroline's tangled up in lust with a woman she's been secretly coveting right back. Both women are accustomed to having things their way. A long negotiation begins, Eleanor forcing Caroline's hand through lecture and example when it comes to compromise, vulnerability and trust. Caroline is lonely enough, and intrigued enough by Eleanor's smarts, intoxicating charm, and seemingly unshakable confidence to go along with it.

Through Flora's sickness and health, family failures and machinations on both sides, a pregnancy scandal with William at Oxford, and a well-executed but morally ambiguous blackmail scheme run by Eleanor to save Caroline's job, the couple jostles their way to a happy Christmas and what promises to be an even better New Year. The foundation is neatly laid for a happily ever after, but is soon to be tested.

* * *

LTIH – Season 5 Imagined

Caroline and Eleanor are charging full-steam ahead with a relationship filled with promise. The expected trials of merging lives and lifestyles sit unaddressed, but neither are worried. They've already navigated tough spots and come out ahead. Even when Eleanor escapes unscathed from a potentially very dangerous situation at the office with a former coworker, and Caroline's healing over the trauma of Kate's loss is tested, they come out on top.

It's what they don't see coming that sets them back on their heels. When Eleanor is offered a job as CEO of her company, headquartered in London, cracks in the newly minted foundation of the relationship appear. They're caused less by what's wrong between the women and more by what's never been addressed within each of them.

Caroline won't accept a commuter relationship, haunted by ghosts known and unknown from her past that won't be vanquished for another decade. Eleanor won't let Caroline go, but she also won't let professional opportunity slide. She plants both feet in separate streams, and neither woman is happy with the situation. When Celia falls ill, Caroline is reminded of her roots in Harrogate, and how important they are to her. When Caroline's own health takes a turn, she's reminded what it means to have a partner and not just a lover. And moving would mean re-negotiating a tender new custody arrangement with Flora's father. The relationship stretches to a breaking point. And that's exactly the moment Eleanor's beguiling and conniving ex-wife Emma senses an opportunity.

Eleanor's buried a secret from her past – kept it from herself and her family - guilt over denying her dying sister a final request when they were both teens. Unaddressed, it almost killed Eleanor, literally and figuratively, when she was younger. But luckily or unluckily for her, Emma Slattery was there to save her time and again. Emma was more than happy to accept Eleanor's indebted affections, and to hold them over her as Emma cheated with woman after woman.

When Eleanor's two daughters were still young, she finally had enough. Through them she found the strength to divorce Emma. She moved from London to start a new life in Harrogate. Just close enough to her family's vast and insidious wealth to try and restart a relationship with her own mother.

But the return to London now and the trials with Caroline put Eleanor right back into her twenty-year-old vulnerable self. She's not the clear-eyed take-charge CEO or partner she needs to be. She's losing the battle on both fronts, and almost loses the war when Emma shows up at her door at just the wrong time.

This time Eleanor truly is lucky. Caroline, with a little prodding from her friend Jane and changed by her love-affair with Eleanor, is ready to offer strength enough for both of them. Eleanor takes charge of her past, brokers a transformational transition at her company, and this time plants both feet back in Harrogate, to receive a marriage proposal she can't say no to.

* * *

LTIH – Season 6 Imagined

House-hunting, yoga, pranksters, pre-nups, and bachelorette parties prove that the strongest couples can handle just about anything life throws at them. Now engaged, Caroline and Eleanor only have to work out the when, where, who, and how of the wedding. And to smooth any remaining wrinkles with their respective in-laws.

Everyone but Caroline is pestering Celia about whether or not she'll attend Caroline's wedding this time around. Even Eleanor's mother – who's also busy trying to get Eleanor to sign a pre-nup to keep the much vaunted family name and sizable fortune intact. The stress isn't helping the fledgling mother-daughter reunions on either side.

Caroline makes a decision she knows she'll rue the minute the words pass her lips and agrees to let Jane and Gillian plan the joint bachelorette party. More than enough fun is had by all – even Jane, who proves out her wily ways and puts her own relationship in jeopardy making moves on women she shouldn't. But not to worry. She's got Lawrence's shoulder to cry on, who's now making a go of it as a police officer at DC Metro and a compatible, if not sloppy, roommate.

Meanwhile, Caroline is reticent to let go and leave Conway Drive behind. Eleanor can't wait to start fresh in a home that wasn't also shared by her fiancée with both John and Kate. A little understanding from Eleanor and the right real estate agent makes all the difference. After a few amusing misses they find the perfect home.

By now Eleanor's tired of waiting for anything when it comes to Caroline. Her niece is to be married at the family manor in a ceremony and party for the ages. She seizes the opportunity to bring friends and family together. While on a quiet sunset stroll by the beach, she surprises Caroline with rings and a ceremony ready to go on a nearby boardwalk. Closest friends and family surround them – even Celia - as they finally make the vows that will last a lifetime.

The story is book-ended by Eleanor and Flora's reflections after Caroline's recent death as they stand on a windy bluff overlooking the site of the wedding decades ago. Eleanor remembers the good times and the difficult ones, even a separation, alongside what proved to the happiest years of her life, and of Caroline's.


	6. Chapter 6

_Mmmmm time traveling again. I'm sorry! It seems better to do it this way as I fit and start, than to keep publishing new vignettes or re-arranging and re-publishing the stories. I'll label 'flashbacks' as they happen, hopefully adding some clarity. :-)_

* * *

 _March - six months prior to Eleanor's confrontation with Caroline at Agnes Bates and seven months prior to 'present' at the hotel_

* * *

"Mum. It's not Dad – Kenneth, your first husband - that you're thinking of right now. It's Alan. It's Alan that's just gone."

"Oh I know that, love. I know what I'm saying." Celia stared out the rain-splattered window of the carriage house, the largest window, central, with the view of the greenbelt behind their home in Pannal. A dense copse of white ash stood in the foreground, with budding grey-barked birch trees struggling up straight and true and towering over them in the distance.

She patted Caroline's hand. Her smile was as absent, mild, and pleasant as her faded watery eyes. Since Alan's passing in late January, all the fight had gone right out of her. Caroline wasn't sure if she missed it or not. This new version of Celia, it was nice. But it wasn't her Mum.

"Your Dad, oh he was so good to me. Love of my life. Though it took some time for us to come to it, didn't it? I'm lucky. Anyone's lucky to have that. Like you and John. And the boys."

"Yes, Mum." Caroline pulled the wool tartan blanket further up Celia's lap and turned to the home health nurse. Jenna something or other. Mum's days of unsupervised independence were long behind her. There was Jenna and Lois, the agency tried to be consistent. Caroline preferred Jenna. "She been like this all day? Mixing everything up – more than usual?"

The robust, pink young woman ducked her head and winced. "I'm afraid she has."

"Yes. Well. That's not exactly a surprise, is it?"

"Afraid not. No. Not at your Mum's age. Not after losing someone so important."

Not after losing her anchor. That's really what Alan was. Alan, Caroline, Eleanor, and Flora. Gillian and Robbie. All of them holding Celia down with them as her mind drifted ever toward the sky. Taking turns grabbing at her arm or her ankle before she floated away for good.

But Alan. Alan had been that big, heavy, unmovable rock. Only a year ago Celia had taken to calling him Kenneth sometimes, but always with that loving tone of voice Caroline hadn't ever heard her use with her father. Alan would smile, correct her, and on they'd go. Until last month. Alan's heart was always bound to give out, and Caroline liked to tell herself that her mom's misnomers hadn't helped it along in finally breaking down for good.

But that wasn't true, about Celia and her father. She _had_ heard her Mum speak to her Dad that way. Once, that she could remember, when she'd been very young. He'd given her a necklace. A diamond solitaire on a gold chain, seemingly out of the blue one night. Her mother, younger than Caroline when John had started cheating, was delighted. She had worn the necklace every day for a month straight. Then there had been a night of shouting, and she'd never worn it again.

It had been the night the necklace was given that she'd heard the love in her mum's voice. The rich kindness of it, a tender vulnerability waiting to be devastated. There was little by little less and less of it for anyone as the years wore on. Until Alan.

"Would you bring me a cup of tea, dear?" Celia spoke to the window and the trees. Caroline nodded at the nurse and waved her off. She strutted into the kitchen, hand on hip, head down, fingers knitting her temple.

"Any particular kind, Mum?" Celia didn't respond and Caroline knew it had been stupid to ask in the first place.

Jenna took a seat next to Celia. "Would you like the radio on, Mrs. Buttershaw? Radio 4, and we'll learn the day's news?"

"I think I'd like a bit of music instead. Yes. Music would be nice."

"Okay. Let's see if we can find something that suits you."

Celia didn't respond, gone again.

Caroline rummaged through the cupboard while she waited for the pot. They were stark. A tin of this and a box of that. Celia had gone off food, along with the rest of her ever-shrinking world. So, she'd stopped shopping for her, mostly. At mealtimes Flora would fetch her gran and lead her back to the house, the rare occasions she wasn't already there, lean and chilled and bundled under a heated blanket in the living room. Eleanor would try at conversation and Flora would chime right in in support. But Celia and Caroline remained quiet. Caroline stabbing at her own food, occasionally leaning over to cut up anything particularly tricky on her Mum's plate, and prompting Celia to remember to eat throughout the meal.

The pot whistled and she snapped off the gas. Water hissed and bubbled into the white ceramic mug, drowning the thin bag of mint tea. Caffeine and at least four of Celia's many daily medicines didn't mix.

She poured one for herself as well and came back over to the window. She didn't even try for biscuits, they'd be wasted. Or, she'd eat them all and add to the spread of her hips that already had her angry and anxious. She set the tea on the coffee table that she remembered from her youth. Part of a set her dad had urged her mum to treat herself too when Caroline was sixteen. By then Celia was well past rejecting gifts of contrition.

Caroline checked her slender silver watch, though she knew the time perfectly well. "It's nearly five, Jenna. You can head on home. Thank you for your time today."

Leicester. That was Jenna's last name. She'd been there once. Why, she couldn't remember.

"Yes. Of course, Ms. Dawson. See you first thing? I'm on tomorrow."

"Six-thirty, please, if you could. I've a meeting first thing I can't miss." Flora wouldn't leave for school until seven-thirty, but Caroline wouldn't saddle her daughter with Mum, if she could help it. Lord knows they had the money to buy help.

Speaking of. Eleanor had left yesterday for Bern and her newest client headquartered in Switzerland. It was beautiful there this time of year, 'a magical place.' Green, metropolitan and sophisticated, and full of itself. Caroline was sick of hearing about it. Gifts of chocolate for Flora were expected upon Eleanor's many returns home. Liquid gifts in glass bottles often arrived for Caroline via post. She'd begun to wonder if Eleanor were responsible for selecting them, or her assistant.

"That's fine, ma'am. I'll see you then." The nurse gathered her sweater and coat from the entry and bustled out. A cold spring draft breezed in, but there wasn't any more pep in it than in Celia. The rain tumbled down outside without purpose or path.

Well-educated now by her wife, Caroline recognized the deep smoky voice of June Christy coming from the radio and covering the silence in the room. They'd found the beginning of In Tune, running a Women's History Month special program on women in jazz.

"Now this song I remember. Couldn't forget it, not if I tried." Celia's densely spotted hand drifted in the air in time with the song.

"Do you?" Caroline rushed in, excited to see the excitement in her Mum.

"Your father loved this record. Played it over and over, and we'd listen and talk. Sometimes we'd even dance. That's what we did back then, you know. Pay attention to each other. It was really something. We were really something, your father and I, before you came along."

Caroline's hand rattled as set down her tea, and she started to pick at the hem of her navy skirt. She had a hard time picturing her mother and her father dancing, and so she cast a blanket of doubt over the rest of the statement as well. But it didn't cover all the way to the edges. "That's not a very nice thing to say, Mum."

"Isn't it? I'm sorry." Celia now nodded her well-coiffed head slowly side to side in rhythm with the music, and off she went again. Either Caroline or an attendant took Celia out once a week to have it set. She would not deny her mother any dignity that might still be salvaged as she slipped away.

Celia clasped her tea in her lap with both hands, but had yet to try it.

"Would you like some of your tea?"

"Yes." Celia nodded, and didn't move to take a drink.

Caroline downed the rest of hers and stood. She took the full cup from her mum, resting her hand over it for a moment before Celia realized her intention, released her hold, and smiled up.

She racked the dishes and stood with her hip on the counter and drummed her fingers on the black granite countertop. It was a gorgeous choice, but ridiculous for Alan and Celia. They had chipped and broken plates and cups on it weekly.

"Flora's home soon. Let's get in and see if she'll have news for us."

"Flora? She's home? Well why didn't you tell me. I haven't seen her for days." Celia beamed, shifted on the love seat, and with slow, clumsy movements draped the hefty red, black, and white blanket over the back of it.

Of course Celia had seen Flora just this morning before she and Caroline had left for the day. But that wasn't particularly important.

"Glad to hear it, Mum. Sure she'll be excited to see you as well."

* * *

"She actually said that to you? Oh darling – I'm so sorry." Behind Eleanor's sympathetic response Caroline heard faint murmurs and occasional raised voices. Was Eleanor still out? She just assumed it to be the television. Perhaps it wasn't.

"Well the nice part about it is that these days she doesn't know _what_ she's saying. Shit just comes flying out of her mouth." Caroline waved her hand and forgot about the wine she was holding. It nearly eclipsed the rim, but not quite. She bit her lip and bit back an _'oops.'_

"As opposed to hurting you purposefully?"

"Right." She finished her wine and slid the glass across the bedside table. "Is that the lift? Are you just getting back to your room now?"

"I am. And I'm just stepping in to head up, so I'll ring back if I lose you."

"Don't bother. It's late."

Eleanor didn't respond, and Caroline wasn't sure if it were because of her location or a reprimand. She'd tossed out the jab for no particular reason. She stayed on the quiet line, listening to the sounds of the lift ascending, doors opening, closing, and mumbled courtesies cutting in and out.

"You're still there?" Eleanor's voice cut in and out as well.

"Yep."

A final shushing of doors, then, again in the background a voice she recognized. Younger, accented, female, and solicitous. "Goodnight Eleanor."

The sound became more muffled, but she could hear her wife's response. "Goodnight, Natalia."

Caroline waited, heard a beep and then the close of a heavy door, before she spoke in high, breathy, lyrical sing-song. " _Yes_. Good _night_ , Natalia."

Eleanor laughed, and in Pannal, Caroline smiled. She had leaned into her natural rhythm to perfect effect just to hear that exact sound.

"We sent Wendy home. Her son came down with chicken pox, and so did her husband. Natalia's picking up her work."

"Lucky Wendy. Or should I say lucky Natalia." Caroline had met Natalia, Eleanor's co-worker and Wendy's assistant over in their re-branding department. Spanish. Smart. Sophisticated. And most definitely sexy. Caroline wasn't naturally jealous. She'd tried at it here and there. But it just wasn't in her. As though someone had wired all her circuits in parallel toward a particular destination, save one. But she knew Eleanor was self-conscious about her extended travel schedule and that was an easy angle to work when Caroline felt lonely and mean spirited. And even Caroline could work up a twinge of green over anyone named Natalia, particularly when she was hot shit rocketing up the corporate ladder.

"Lucky no one. Stop it." Eleanor chuckled, and across the miles Caroline could see the tempting gleam of her shining teeth and the pout on her mouth. "And I'm back so late because I pushed up the project timeline. I've shaved a couple days. I found something through Geneva to Leeds. But I won't get home from the airport at least until eleven on Friday night."

"You'll miss Flora's cello recital."

"I'm aware of that. But I'll be there for her first football match of the season on Saturday."

"I suppose. And – I'm glad. And thank you, Eleanor. For working that out."

"You're welcome. I miss you. I worry about you when I'm gone – and Celia. I worry about you both, these days."

That was probably a well-placed concern. "I miss you as well. I wish you were here tonight." The last word caught in her throat. She did wish Eleanor were here. Celia's off-hand comment still stung.

"I can't say exactly why, Caroline, but I've been thinking about kissing you all day." She heard Eleanor exhale in the very particular way she did when her bra came off. Caroline's sigh of relief sounded very similar and the effect was comical when they happened to overlap.

She smiled as she pictured her wife going through the same night time routine she always did, and in a way Eleanor was here with her. She studied and plucked at the slate grey duvet. "You're the most romantic woman in my life."

"And you're currently number one on my list of women I've kissed. You're very adept."

"Currently?" She smiled and relaxed into their practiced routine, the easy back and forth that in its worn and gentle way reminded her how many years had passed between them.

"I don't really expect the rankings to change. But I like to be accurate."

"No, Eleanor. You like to be you. And _I_ love _you_."

"I love you back. I'll be glad to get home. Now close your eyes and go to sleep so you can start dreaming of me."

"I will." Caroline rumbled her goodnight and hung up her mobile. She slid further down through the sheets, further under the duvet. She clicked out the light and turned to the window and the night. A fog had come in that night and the world was black in front of her, the city lights gone.


	7. Chapter 7

_'Present,' Caroline and Eleanor at the hotel_

* * *

When Caroline woke, she felt hungover. It was the same sense of confusion, the 'what happened last night' puzzlement. Though it certainly hadn't been the two glasses of wine. She was polishing a bottle herself, no problem, these days. Her head cleared quickly, but she knew Eleanor had been there and ought to be there now. Where was she? She looked around the hotel room for a sign she was still there – clothes, shoes, anything out, and saw nothing. She panicked. Until she realized her clothes were all gone too, and heard the shower from the bathroom, when she collapsed in relief against the pillows. Eleanor had tidied up.

She heard the shower and wanted to join her wife. She felt in need of a good clean, and that had nothing to do with last night. She moved to the edge of the bed and sat, sagging body, sagging spirits, wondering if Eleanor would want her to join her. Had they crossed back over into everyday intimacy? Was Caroline comfortable again, naked in front of Eleanor without the cloak of night or sex to make it all fine? Would Eleanor be comfortable in front of her? The last thing she wanted to do was to upset her in any way, upset whatever new state of progress they may have achieved.

Caroline checked her internal barometer again as the light came up in the room, the sun pushing through the sheer curtains and trying to make an appearance in the winter morning. She almost hadn't recognized her own feelings. She had a great sense of hope this morning, for the first time in many days it was much stronger than her sorrow or her fear. Memories from last night offered themselves up as further proof to bolster her optimism. There was something left between them. Then, and this morning. Sex like that – that desperate and wholly satisfying and terrifying – it meant stakes. It meant investment. For its strength, the hope persuaded Caroline to choose it above the other emotions.

She eased open the bathroom door and stared down at the brushed matte grey tile. "May I join you?"

"I wish you would." A quiet, generous request from her wife in response. Eleanor smiled at her and took her hands as Caroline stepped through the open space between the glass and the wall.

"Hi."

"Good morning. I think you slept well?" Eleanor brought her close and swapped spots.

Caroline took a deep breath in and the pounding water on her back almost put her right back to sleep. "For the first time in quite a while, actually."

"Me too." She nodded. It was almost impossible to be so awkward together, for being so familiar.

"Good." Eleanor tilted her chin down, just a little, and smiled.

Caroline chuckled. "Here. Don't be cold." She smiled back and Eleanor stepped into the stream with her. Caroline put her arms all the way around her and leaned her head on Eleanor's shoulder. She turned them to the side, not wanting an inch between them or an inch of them uncovered by the warmth.

"Flora – " It was Greg's weekend, she'd texted her early last night, but -

"She's with her dad"

"Good." They'd have time. Caroline would have time to figure out something to say to her daughter, some way to save face.

The water collected on their bare chests and puddled between them. The splashing, bubbling sounds made Caroline smile again, and she tried to remember when she'd been so consistently happy for even a period of five minutes. She couldn't. The sound of the shower and her happiness were the only things in her head. The maelstrom that had been raging for so long quiet now. She tightened her arms around Eleanor, pushing her face closer into her dark hair and loosing strength in her legs.

Eleanor stood taller and leaned back against the clear rectangular tiles. Caroline leaned into her and began to cry.

"It's okay, Caroline." Eleanor's voice calm at her ear, and of course that made her feel immensely better, which made her tears come all the faster. "It's okay."

Nice as this warm, wet catharsis was, Caroline wanted nothing more than to be back in bed. She had slept well and she wanted exactly that feeling again. To be wrapped in a cocoon of Eleanor's soft acceptance and durability.

She laughed at herself, sniffed, and kissed Eleanor's cheek. "Thank you."

"Of course. You forgot I was here, didn't you?"

Caroline nodded and sniffed again. "I did."

"Come on. Let's get you cleaned up. I didn't give you time to wash your face last night - you look like a surrealist raccoon." Eleanor grabbed her hips and turned her facing the shower.

"Thanks." Caroline chastised her smart mouth with a nudge. She grabbed her face wash and set to work, then shampooed, while Eleanor soaped her up and washed her down.

"Much better. All around, I'd say."

"Yes." Caroline faced her and all that space left over in her head from the missing anger and the destruction of the maze of walls she'd put up keeping Eleanor out, left room for another thing she'd forgotten. How very simple Eleanor's actual beauty was, inside and out, and much she loved her.

Long hair wet-black and lean beside her face. No makeup at all. Just Eleanor. Lines etching themselves millimeter by millimeter at her forehead. Laugh lines at her merry brown eyes as well, those too accustomed to being crinkled in a smile to keep the crow's feet away, no matter how expensive the night cream. The same story all the way down to her modest nose and pink lips fading with age.

It was hard to know if Eleanor knew Caroline was studying her. She had come to realize that the most innocent, un-engaged expression might be sitting on her wife's face, while all the while she was thinking just as intently right back. In all their already long years Caroline still had not learned all of Eleanor's tells, if she even had any in this case.

"Come on. Let's dry off. I want breakfast, and a morning nap. And to talk." Eleanor shut off the shower.

Caroline reached around her and grabbed a thick white cotton towel. She threw it over Eleanor's head and began vigorously rubbing her face and damp hair, making a show of it. "I didn't think you liked to talk."

Eleanor fought her way clear of the towel and peered out from under it with narrowed eyes. She flipped it back on Caroline and repeated the process as they both laughed and giggled themselves dry.

"I don't like to talk. But that's where we've worked our way too, isn't it?"

"I suppose." Caroline finished off her own short blonde hair with a towel as Eleanor dried hers out further. The hotel hand-dryer was shit. She had continually forgotten hers at the house and couldn't wait to have it back.

Eleanor finished and ran a hand through Caroline's choppy layers. Still plenty of bangs and volume at the front, stacked and faded up the back. "I suppose you could have tried harder at a cliché if you'd wanted to, Sampson. But shearing your long golden locks is pretty hard to beat."

Caroline took the hand, kissed the inside of her wrist, and then returned it. "Yes. But for women it's supposed to work the opposite way. We're supposed to feel empowered and freed by cutting our hair."

"And did you?"

She couldn't answer that yet, so she instead she lead Eleanor back to the bedroom. "You haven't said anything. Do you like it?"

"I don't know."

Caroline turned. "How can that be true. How can you, of all people, not have an opinion on a haircut?"

"Because I'm torn. Because I want to know why you did it, and if you like it. And if you mean to keep it."

She didn't have answers for those questions either. She took a bit of Eleanor's brown waves in her fingers and considered it. "I suppose we'll both have to wait to find out."

"I suppose." Eleanor slipped under the bed sheets and held out her arms. "Can we nap now?"

Caroline nodded and tucked herself in to Eleanor, who did look paler and unusually tired. It had been a long month, a long night for both of them, she supposed. Still – Caroline frowned and turned to look over her shoulder.

"You want to skip breakfast?"

"You know how much I love to sleep."

"And I know how much you love breakfast."

"After we nap." Eleanor squeezed her hard and Caroline shrugged, too happy at the moment to persist, saving her endless questions for later.


	8. Chapter 8

_Present_

"What happened with Celia, Caroline. How did we get here? What haven't you told me?"

Eleanor had been ready for breakfast as soon as they woke. She buttered a croissant and took a demure bite before returning it to her plate. Caroline scowled, but her wife smiled and waved a hand. "Talk to me. We can't stop now. Not if we're going to go home. And I won't leave her without you."

"You know how it was. I've told you. The day Mum died was such a good day. Her bloody best in ages." Eleanor nodded and Caroline continued. "She was sharp and clear and I was filled with optimism, you know, even _after_ I stormed out the door of the carriage house. I suppose it was why I let myself get so mad in the first place."

* * *

 _March_

"It's all my fault, of course. My bad marriage, the first one. I don't blame poor Kenneth anymore. Because I sent him away, once. When you were very young. He was gone at least a month. I suppose that's when it all started. With the women. Got a taste and couldn't break himself of the habit."

"What?" Caroline dropped into the armchair and stared at her mother. She sputtered and lost her breath and fumbled around for something to say.

"I know you wanted to love your father, through all his many flaws. I always saw it in you. And I didn't want you to. Because he loved you best. I knew that the moment you were born. He loved everyone else best, besides me. But you most of all. I made a mistake, sent him away, because I was jealous of you. Turns out it was a rather big one. Cost me a marriage. I suppose I blamed you as well as him for my unhappiness, for a while."

Caroline stood, and paced, and started her thoughts over. She couldn't yet focus on the substance of the remark. There would be plenty of sleepless nights to dwell on that. So she settled for reprimanding her mother.

"That's – that's just not something you _say_ , Mum. Even if it's true. Not now. Like that - after all these years. It's not - I don't think it's true, and I don't _care_ if it is. It's certainly not _right_. But off your nutter or sane or what-the-fuck-ever, it's just not something you _say_. To your daughter."

She waved her hands so violently as she shouted, she almost lost her balance.

"Now Caroline - don't be mad. We're too old to lie to each other." Celia shifted on the couch and fiddled with a button on her beige cardigan. "And I do love you. And I want you to know why I haven't always - " Celia tapered off and touched the tissue clutched in her hand to her eyes.

"I'll be mad when I've earned the right." Caroline huffed and resumed her pacing. Celia's head followed her strut, tracking her progress back and forth across the window. Behind Caroline the trees swayed in syncopation with her momentum and that felt on par with the tilt of her world.

Caroline could be mad, and she would be mad. She was mad. She turned to her mother. At fifty-seven it was impossible to believe this new perspective on her. Brand new, with a dizzying pitch and drunken angle to her anger she'd never known were possible. Even after Kate. Of course, it was all the worse for her mother's excruciatingly kind expression, her brow burying her balmy blue eyes in their concern, mouth pulled into itself.

Questions poured into her head from a levy burst somewhere she'd no idea even existed, never knew she'd built. Why now? Why would Celia save the big artillery all for now? There'd been loads of occasions through the years to haul it up and out. But hadn't she been doing this all along? Caroline's entire life? Perhaps not explicitly, but through actions, quick stabs here and there, excruciating gashes well-timed?

And – her father. She'd tried so many times to maneuver around Celia and find a way to love him, really love him. She'd always seen that wanting right back, far away in his eyes. But there was always that resentment she felt. She blamed him, his constant infidelity, for Celia's vast distance from her through the years. He'd turned her bitter. She'd chosen to stay that way, of course.

Caroline had always felt guilty for loving her father. It was always a choice with Celia, a stupid test, that was clear. Whom did Caroline love more? And no matter how Celia battered her affections, she knew deep down that to choose her father would cost her her mother – permanently. Loyalty, no matter how cruelly Celia might treat her, was the ultimate proving ground for her love and affection.

But what was life, really, but of a series of tests, choices, consequences, and rewards?

Finally, she stopped pacing, though raging screams and recriminations lashed at her restraint. Caroline could not bring herself to pass her fury off on her mother, who might have no idea why she was shouting, even minutes from now. It would be like yelling at a dog when you discovered a chewed blanket days later. And perhaps opting out of Celia's manipulations was the ultimate test of her own sanity.

"I can't be here with you right now, Mum. I'm starting dinner. I'll send Flora for you."

"Oh Caroline, no. Don't go. I'm sorry."

"I just need a break, Mum. I do." She turned back to Celia and swept her hands across her chest. She shook her head and pulled the door closed violently behind her. "You can't say things like that."

* * *

She hadn't been able to ask or answer any of her many questions that day, or the next, or ever. At least not of Celia. Because an hour later, when Caroline finally felt like a proper ass for walking out on her senile mother and gone back to apologize, Celia was dead.

Before anything else, even calling the doctor, she'd called Eleanor. Sat on the pale blue and yellow striped canvas couch, perched at the edge of it, actually, staring at the white walls and holding her mother's cool, surprisingly flexible but limp, hand. She'd dialed Eleanor twice, straight to voicemail both times. Caroline's hands were shaking so badly the third time she'd called, her fingers covered in tears she kept wiping from her cheeks, that she'd been clumsy and hit her voice mail button next to Eleanor's tiny circular photo instead of dialing. It had come in that afternoon and Caroline had been too wound up to listen.

" _Darling. I'm so sorry. I won't be home tonight after all. It's just one more day's delay though. I'm back on a flight tomorrow, late."_

* * *

 _Present_

Caroline threw herself back against her chair, tale spent. She and Eleanor sat opposite each other at the small cherry-wood table of the hotel room. Not much breakfast was gone between either of them, but the stainless-steel teapot of Lady Grey sat empty.

"And there it is. I blamed you for being gone. I did. I'd probably just been waiting for a reason. It wasn't your fault. You came right home. I don't even know how you got back here so quickly. But I was so _mad_. I was so alone, so alone, so apart from everything. Not just you. I was so mad at you Eleanor, already, because I couldn't be mad at Mum, and that night – it – it proved my own lie to me. I'm sorry."

"I know you blamed me, Caroline. That much was perfectly clear." Eleanor smirked and looked around the sterile room. "But why did you cast me out?"

After Celia's death, Caroline had been stuck with her unanswered questions for months. Wading in and out of them and all the other sucking, pulling, quagmires of grief she needed to slog though. And all the regrets, the what ifs, the confusion - they'd pulled her apart from Eleanor, not closer. She'd let them. It had felt so much better to wrap herself in misery over her not-really failing marriage than face a lifetime of irrecoverable exile from her father. For which she now blamed her mother as much as him, or herself. And the blame made her feel guilty, then angry, and on the cycle raged.

Until her anger finally broke directly against Eleanor, who refused to let it break _them_. How could Caroline withhold honesty now, no matter how much vulnerability it exposed?

"It felt better to be mad at you than myself." And - something more. Something underneath all of it that hurt the most. "I thought perhaps you might discover that you were happier without me, and my anger. I wanted to give you that chance."

It had felt better to suffer the self-flagellation. To make a brand new unnecessary hurt a reality. Because in the end, though she'd always expected Eleanor to fail her, somehow she also knew she never would. The conflicting thrums of those insistences created by her cognitive dissonance, crashing together in her head, had nearly ripped her apart.

Very nearly. But Caroline had been right about Eleanor standing in the gap, waiting for her. Never mind that she'd created an opposition where she would have the right of it either way. Eleanor had not failed her. Neither had Flora, nor Jane, nor Gillian, all of whom worked with chisels and sledgehammers to pound her into serving her own best interests.

And when Caroline saw the real picture, her self-portrait hidden in plain sight, composed of all the million tiny distorted images of a lifetime of memories, she was deeply ashamed. And she knew Eleanor saw it as well. Probably had, since their very beginning, had been calling her out on it well before that night at Agnes Bates. Hadn't Caroline simply become Celia? Always testing. Looking for the flaws and pushing at the vulnerabilities. Always moving the goal posts on success for herself – and her partner. Whatever it was she gained, whatever it was she proved, it was never enough.

"Yes." Eleanor played with the silver butter knife, flipping it back and forth on the plate, the clink sharp with each flip. "That sounds like you."

"I'm sorry. I really am."

"I know. I know you are." Eleanor sounded more resigned than anything else, and her deep sigh encouraged Caroline, who had been waiting for weeks to endure Eleanor's justified wrath.

"You don't have to look like a toddler waiting for a scolding, Caroline. I haven't spent all this time desperately waiting to hear you say that, wanting you home no matter how awful you've been, just to build up a head of steam about it."

"Now - that sounds like you." Caroline let out a harsh laugh. "Just one angry word, to help alleviate my guilt?"

"You hurt me very badly."

That would do fine. Caroline swiped at her eyes and sniffed. She searched for a change of subject. Memory of the past months so recently recalled, she stumbled over something she'd long been wondering about.

"How did you manage it – to arrive that night after Celia died – or rather, that next morning, so early?" Eleanor had dashed through the door at nearly two a.m., face lined and covered in pain and fear that had comforted and enraged Caroline at the same time.

Eleanor smiled and shook her head. She picked at her croissant. "I got lucky on the timing. It doesn't matter."

"It does. Don't leave me alone here, being honest about things."

"I'd never leave you alone. You know that."

Caroline squinted. Her lips turned up at the corners, and she shook her own head. "You did something I wouldn't approve of."

"I did."

The women considered each other and began a silent exchange. Caroline has been right, again - about their tether. Severed strands re-woven, it hummed and crackled invisibly between them, telegraphing every thought through bright blue and brown eyes.

' _What did you do'_

' _You don't need to know'_ A raise of an eyebrow and the suggestion of a pout on Eleanor's lips. _'After all this time, don't you trust me'_

Caroline paused at that. Did she? Of course. Though - "I do. But look where not sharing landed us."

Eleanor's mouth parted, "Ah." She leaned toward Caroline, took her thick, freckled hand, and ran a thumb over it. "Hardly the same. A tiny matter of logistics, versus – what's happened. And was it secrets that hurt us, plain and simple, or keeping the wrong ones? Or holding back?"

"I suspect the latter." Caroline leaned toward Eleanor, and now they were only inches apart across the table. "Perhaps I'm ready to try something new. More than one thing. I'm an old dog, but if anyone can teach me knew tricks – " Caroline looked down, bashful, and looked back up.

They considered each other much longer now, and plump tears burgeoned in Eleanor's eyes. She blinked and two splashed on Caroline's hand.

Eleanor sniffed and wiped her face, laughed and dismissed herself. "It's silly. It's just because of the money it took. And of all things, it was the last thing I wanted to fight with you about right then."

Caroline sat back and crossed her arms. _'I'm waiting.'_

"I hired a private jet."

Caroline barked out a sharp laugh, full of disbelief but never doubting the response. "Jesus."

"The money didn't come from our accounts."

As though Eleanor using money that wasn't theirs, or wasn't Caroline's, anyway, would make it better somehow. But Caroline wasn't ready to be mad about anything. They'd reached the moment in the fight, the separation, when it was all fair game. Both of them so happy to be done with it that all kinds of bloody confessions could be forgiven with an indulgent scowl.

She looked down and ran a finger back and forth the chiffon-yellow linen of the arm of her chair. Now would be the best time to clear the air of everything.

"Speaking of money."

Eleanor shifted and threw her napkin on the table.

Caroline leaned forward and this time took Eleanor's hand. "You said we had to talk."

Eleanor reclined and slipped her grasp. She pulled her white robe tighter across her chest and would not meet Caroline's eyes. "Perhaps we've talked enough for now."

"We've both made mistakes. You've admitted that much. And I've bared mine. And lived through the shame. You can too."

Eleanor tossed her head to the side and pulled back her shoulders. She looked directly back at Caroline. "I've already told you. I'm not ashamed of what I've done. Though it was a mistake. One I wouldn't have made if you'd been in your right mind."


	9. Chapter 9

_These two scenes up today, two more, and nothing more for Nothing More. With the last two I'll mess everything up again and give the story a chapter re-arrange to put the synopsis at the end. :-)_

* * *

 _Flora's 'insistence' - a week before Caroline and Eleanor's reconciliation at the hotel_

* * *

"You're making a mistake." Flora settled her purple backpack at her feet and played her fingers over her mobile, not bothering to look at Caroline.

' _Of course I am'_ Her daughter was right and she didn't even need to ask what she was talking about. But it wasn't new information to Caroline. She had made a mistake, but had no idea now how to put it right. She started the car and it let loose a flurry of warning dings.

"Put on your seat belt, Flora."

No response. None at all. As though Caroline hadn't even spoken. Thirteen going on too-old-to-be-bothered-with-anything was everything Celia had warned her it would be. If only her Mum could see her now. The glee would be palpable. Recompense for every teenage fit that a stubborn, too-smart for herself Caroline had ever thrown.

She started to pull down the driveway and stopped at the end when the ' _ding_ ' chorus resumed.

"Flora. Please. Put on your seat belt."

"I don't want to." Still no even a flicker from her daughter, no change of expression at all.

"Well it's not a question of want to. It's what you'll do if you're going to ride in this car. Any car." Caroline turned under her own belt to face Flora.

"You don't live here. You don't make the rules. Mum does now."

"Is that what she's _told_ you?" Caroline's ire shifted targets and intensity faster than Flora's slender, nimble fingers danced across the screen of her mobile.

"No."

 _Oh but I think that I have made a huge, huge mistake, haven't I? Shit._

"I do – live here, sweetie. It's just that - " Caroline paused. It would be an enormous strategic mistake to let Flora derail the argument. Too clever by half, this one.

"I'm the one giving you a ride to school. My car, my rules. My daughter, my rules, no matter what."

Flora let out a sigh so massive Caroline had no idea how there was even that much oxygen in her lungs. This time she did look right at her mother and roll her oval, ink black eyes, before narrowing them and pulling her belt across and snapping it in. It still jarred Caroline to see a classic Eleanor expression appear on a face that was every day more and more Kate as Flora grew into herself. Not that she didn't also delight in it. She loved most of all the perpetual trouble brewing in the playful upturn fixed at the corners of her lips.

Flora had done as she'd asked. But the attitude – was she up for the fight this morning? Caroline let out her own sigh and leaned her head against the rest. _Why the hell not._

She kept the car in park and stared at her daughter, who had returned her attentions back to her screen. She recalled similar scenes with her own mother. She'd won maybe a third of their waiting games, Celia another. The rest had been draws that frustrated both of them, taking so long they'd been interrupted by outside events.

Caroline turned off the car. She pulled out her own phone and began responding to emails. Silent minutes ticked by, other cars passing only occasionally on their quiet suburban street. The sun shone directly into the cab. Caroline cracked her window. The fall air smelled of changing leaves and chill.

"I'm going to be late for zero period."

 _Victory._ At least Caroline could still out-maneuver Flora. For now. Flora had cello-intensive zero period with Jean, whom she could never stand to even think of disappointing. If she no longer revered Caroline, Caroline would borrow a little capital from someone she did.

"You and your attitude will both be late."

Flora threw her head up and back against the seat rest and let out a long, slow, breath in a neat imitation of her mother.

"Flora." Caroline softened her tone. She'd proved her point. No need to belabor it. Now for what was really driving things. "I still live here. We talked about this when I -"

"Left us?"

Caroline faced the windshield, and the dappled patchwork-green valley below them. Brilliant emerald where the sun eclipsed the clouds, shaded and mossy-looking where it didn't.

"Mum." Flora's turn at a softer tone. "I know we talked. And I think I understood what you were saying. Kind of. But, like, are you sure you didn't make a mistake, you know, make a bad choice or something?"

Caroline drummed her fingers on the steering wheel.

"Mum wants you to come home. I can tell. She misses you. We both do."

Caroline stripped off her seat belt and leaned over to Flora, took her hands and fixed her gaze tight. "I know that you do. I'm sorry. But don't be in the middle of this – because you aren't. Don't try to fix this for us. That's not your job. I don't expect it of you, and neither does your Mum."

There wouldn't be any 'staying together for the children' in Caroline's future. The reconciliation would be about her and Eleanor. And now Eleanor had her own explaining to do. But she wouldn't put Flora in the middle, make her choose. Not like she'd been forced to.

"Okay." Flora fidgeted with the window. Open, closed. Open, closed.

Caroline restarted the car and buckled up.

"Mum."

Back into park.

"It's been over a month, Mum. How much longer are you going to be gone?"

"I don't know." She didn't. She hadn't been this lonely since John. She hated it. But sometimes she felt lonely even when she was at home. Even with Flora and Eleanor both there. And that was almost worse. But this fit she was throwing wasn't going to fix that, was it?

"Shouldn't you like - maybe - talk to Mum? You know she wants to. I think you're just being stubborn. You should fix this Mum. You know you should."

Caroline's head whipped around, but Flora was already back at her mobile, placid as ever. Caroline smiled and finally chuckled. What could you do, when they were just you, blended up and served right back on a silver platter? Love them, was all. And perhaps be grateful.

The morning tally. Score one for Caroline, one for Flora. "All right. I'll - try."

"We're going to be late." Flora didn't look up, knew when not to rub it in. Eleanor's 'point made' restraint, loud and clear.

Caroline reached over and ran her hand through her daughter's voluminous black curly waves. "How about a little you and me time again today, after school."

A big smile in response, a giant toothy-grin. "It's my turn to pick. Destination Venus?"

Caroline closed her eyes and took a deep breath in. Comic book shops. Her very favorite. "Yep."

"Yessssss."

That perfectly happy face – worth every second she'd spend in misery surrounded by sticky-fingered teenage boys all afternoon.

* * *

She'd texted Eleanor that morning when she'd gotten into the office. Just a quick update on the change in Flora's schedule, and a hope for response. She'd forced her wife's hand a little by encamping at the hotel. Eleanor might push or pull her plans or her timing when it came to Caroline. Never with Flora.

' _Taking Flora to Venus for comic browsing after school. Have her home for dinner'_

' _Okay'_

Two weeks ago Eleanor would have asked her to stay. That had perpetually earned silence from Caroline in response, and she'd stopped asking. Little by little Caroline had started wanting her to start asking again. She slouched in her chair in reaction to the absent invitation. The absent ' _xxx_.'

She set her phone down on the desk and threw herself into the day. The response to the campaign announcement last month was going very well. That meant she spent hours a day on the phone romancing donors. She made herself grateful about that. An hour later,

' _I won't ask you about dinner. But please, Caroline, won't you just see me. Give me a chance'_

Why couldn't Eleanor rail at her? Be petty? Why couldn't Flora be more teenager, and stew in disgusted silence? Why wouldn't anyone in her life enable her? Caroline sat back, smiled, recalling lunch last weekend with Jane. Coke in one hand and ravioli-loaded fork waving at her in the other. "I'll still be your friend, Caroline, long as you want me. Even if you completely cock this up. But you're acting like a complete idiot, no matter what Eleanor's done."

Well fine. And thank god her wife was the bigger person. Thank god her daughter was too. She'd given Flora her word about trying to work herself, this, out. Half of Caroline despaired at the need for explanation and apology and the embarrassment that would accompany it. Half of Caroline was already drunk with anticipation, physical and emotional. Because there was only one way things would go now, as soon as she saw Eleanor.

' _Yes'_


	10. Chapter 10

_Present_

* * *

"How much did she cost you?" Caroline resumed tracing circles on the arm of her chair.

"Maybe whatever it was, was worth it. Maybe she's the reason we're here together, right now." Eleanor made her way over to the window. The sun was high now, the rain from the morning shining and steaming on the asphalt below. It would be nice outside today. Perfect. She needed fresh air, and she needed it now. Eleanor turned back toward the room and her scowling wife.

"I've got to get out of here. I don't want you here another second, either. I want to go home. Take me for ice cream, and then take me home. Please." It hadn't been her intent, it really hadn't, to give Caroline an excuse to genuinely be mad at her. A way to alleviate her guilt by having a mark to hold over Eleanor's head. She'd gone all the way to York with the woman, to a no-name French place with bad food but great wine. But she had misstepped, and it was time to find a way to navigate past it.

"She couldn't have been cheap." Caroline remained stubbornly fixated on the last thing Eleanor wanted to talk about. She was now busy rearranging their breakfast plates. Clearly she wasn't going to drop this, but at least there was movement.

"Of course not." Eleanor didn't do cheap, when it came to anything. "It was just someone to talk to." God knows she had plenty to talk about. And god knows she needed a break from everything. She needed a break from the relentless exhaustion of therapy, the sterile conversations with doctors, the tight-eyed reassurances from family and friends that everything would work out.

It was only that she'd needed to laugh, and just as much as that, needed to make someone laugh. She'd needed a way to exhale.

She watched the small people passing to and from beneath them and then went to the closet, shook out her clothes from last night, and dressed. Caroline finished stacking the tray and sat it down with a clank outside the hotel door.

"That's all it was, Caroline. Nothing more than dinner. I promise. Just someone to talk to. Someone to talk to who'd smile at me."

Caroline stopped fussing and faced her. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. Are you sure there was never anything between you and Jean?"

"Touché." A sharp exhale. "And it was just that once? This time?"

"Yes."

This time. Eleanor had already confessed to Caroline, to her pearl-clutching shock and a multitude of fireworks, that she had 'dated' escorts in the past. Back in her swinging-single-mum days. After she'd given up on the hopeless genetic mud puddle of over-forty available lesbians in Harrogate. Most decisively after the third woman who decided that texting Eleanor more-than-candid selfies was a great way to break the ice. Attractive, intelligent women apparently really were that hard to come by. It wasn't something she was proud of. But ironically, the escorts were the most honest when it came to what they looked like, who they really were, and their motivations. That, and Eleanor was willing to pay for good conversation and good sex. And she refused to be shamed by anyone.

She tried a diversion. "Would it make you feel better, or worse, to know that after everything's come out in the wash, it's really my mother who ended up footing the bill?"

Caroline stood across the room, arms crossed. Watching, waiting, and Eleanor knew, deciding.

"I thought younger women weren't your type."

Damn iPhones. Cameras in the hands of everyone who wanted to stick their noses in where they didn't belong. Was that a twitch of the lip, delivered with Caroline's condescension? "Even the best agencies have trouble - sourcing - older women."

"Low demand?" A flicker in Caroline's ever-watchful eyes.

"Something like that."

"Did you have to pay her extra, to hold your hand, if talking was the deal? Or was that a freebie? I'm not familiar with how these things work."

Damn iPhones again. So Caroline wasn't done being mad.

Eleanor didn't want to feel that exhilarating twist in her stomach as Caroline mentioned that fleeting touch. It was emotional memory, that was all. But it was a memory of a very real emotion she'd savored at the time. How good it felt to have another woman laugh, smile, reach out and take her hand simply because Eleanor had been able to provoke an impulse that couldn't be resisted. Just a second's reprieve from loneliness.

Enough. Mistake or not, Eleanor had apologized. She'd had dinner with another woman. A dinner without intent, even. Caroline had shacked up here for a month, leaving her alone – to deal with things Eleanor shouldn't have ever had to face alone.

"Some women find me irresistible. They can't stop themselves, no matter what they mean to do or not do. You know that as well as anyone. And I didn't even make her waffles." She sat on the bed, donned her shoes, and went back to the closet. She began packing on Caroline's behalf.

Caroline shook her head, grabbed her clothes with her into the bathroom. Eleanor waited.

The bathroom door opened. Caroline's chambray shirt hung unbuttoned and she zipped her jeans.

"Did you talk to her - about me? Did you tell some strange woman all about our marriage?"

Wrath and compassion went head to head in Eleanor's mind, and judging from Caroline's surprised reaction, on her face too. But she stepped forward and began to button Caroline's shirt, who stood and endured it with the frustrated, tolerant patience of a small child being zipped into her winter coat.

"I did not. Believe it or not, you don't define the scope of my world."

Caroline tossed her toiletries together, breezed past her and pulled on her boots. "What did you talk about?"

Eleanor resumed packing her wife's clothes. "Work. Books. Politics. Nothing."

And – what she couldn't bring herself to tell Caroline, to bring up, while they'd been apart. She would not be weak in front of her wife, not then. She wouldn't use pity to leverage them back together. She zipped up the suitcase and glanced around the room, Caroline doing her own final inspection.

"There's something else you're not telling me." Caroline stopped, focused, and ran a hand down Eleanor's arm. "But I trust you."

"There is. There's something I absolutely need to tell you. But since you trust me, take my word that you'll want to hear about it over ice cream in the fresh air and the bright sun."

Caroline frowned. "All right. Let's go."

Eleanor had rarely heard a sound she liked as well as that of the hotel door slamming behind them.

Eyes brilliant and blue as the November sky, Caroline looked her up and down as they waited for the lift. She cracked a mischievous grin, already pleased with herself and whatever words were about to tumble from her mouth. "Private planes and prostitutes. I never knew I married a Trump."

Eleanor looked her over right back with a flat, unimpressed expression. "You're going to regret that remark."

The doors slid open and they stepped into a crowd. Caroline waited a moment and whispered at Eleanor's ear. "I'll look forward to that."

Eleanor cleared her throat as the lift stopped. It resumed. She plucked a piece of lint from Caroline's jacket, leaned close, and whispered back. "Oh but you _really_ shouldn't."


	11. Chapter 11

Candy red and polar white stripe had recently replaced the purple exterior on the two-story Victorian façade of Harrogate's favorite ice cream shop. On a relatively balmy mid-afternoon the line ran out the door. Neither woman minded the wait. Eleanor wound her arm into Caroline's elbow and reclined her head on her shoulder.

Caroline felt reborn. She had hours, days, to stand in line and wait with Eleanor, if she wanted. A lifetime, even, would be fine. Whatever weight Celia had laid upon her for fifty-seven years was lifted. The strength imparted from carrying the burden remained, while the heaviness itself abandoned her and left her lonely but available to a world ever-absent the threat of recrimination. As fickle as Celia's affections had been, Eleanor's were twice as steady. Caroline could perhaps be forever finished testing those limits.

"Hey don't forget. We've got that appointment with the insurance broker on Wednesday night."

Caroline blew up through her bangs. Ice cream was supposed to be a break from the mundane. "Oh that's right. What time?"

"Well it's at six. I know you have that faculty executive meeting. So I'll try to get there, and get us started. They want to talk about some sort of change in the formula for the deductible."

"Oh right. It's percentage based now, or something?" Their neighbors had had a claim recently, a tree had come down in a windstorm, and they'd chatted about the deductible changes over a morning walk last month. "So does that mean the premium is going up?"

"I don't know. I suppose that's what we're going to be chatting about."

"Fine." Caroline studied the board and couldn't decide if she wanted fruity or not. "Perhaps we should shop around for a new broker, see if it's changing with all the companies."

"My cousin knows someone. She's supposed to be quite good. I could give her a call."

"Would you?"

"Yes. Next week. Leave our last bill out on the kitchen counter and I'll remember."

"We switched to online pay this summer." Caroline sighed. She wanted all the flavors. And she hated double scoop when the tastes completely conflicted. It was like getting the worst of everything.

"Before I forget." Eleanor tugged her sleeve. "Greg brought up Christmas. Wanted to see if we're still fine that we'll get Christmas Eve and morning and they'll get that night, or if we wanted to change it up this year. He invited us down. No need to answer now, but we should think on it."

Caroline rolled her neck around and squinted at the board. If it were summer, she would have picked strawberry. But nothing was in season. She realized Eleanor was waiting for a response. "Yes. Ummmm. Let me think on it. We could - " She prepared to be a generous, loving partner, "We could go up to Cayton on Christmas Eve and see your family if Greg wanted Flora down in Manchester instead."

"Would that be okay?" Eleanor tilted her head, and a minute smile crept on to her mouth.

She'd need to remember that small reward as she suffered Magpie Margaret's sharper-than-ever barbs next month. "Absolutely."

Tuned back into the household, a thought crossed Caroline's mind. She turned to Eleanor. "Did you remember that we need a new rubbish bin? That old one that idiot boy backed over still doesn't roll right, and I know you said you could stop and grab a new one, but if you haven't we can do it tomorrow."

Eleanor began to respond when two women ahead of them in line took their cones and then interrupted on their way out the door. One taller, one shorter. As they approached Caroline and Eleanor, the taller turned to her compatriot. She then looked directly at Caroline, lifted her upper lip and raised her voice.

"What a hideous scarf." She sniffed and wrinkled her nose toward the other, seeking agreement.

The shorter of the two nodded and shook her head, pity scrolling left and right, north and south across her tortured, horrified expression. "The material is perfectly fine. But dear lord – that color. _I_ wouldn't be caught dead."

They exchanged an affirming and amused glance and strolled out the door. The chime of the bell over it was the only sound to be heard. Just previously filled with a swell of ebullient conversations among happy patrons awaiting afternoon treats, the shop fell silent. No one looked at Caroline, not even the bustling attendants behind the steel freezer cases.

"Well." Caroline wound her hands in her scarf and sniffed. She looked down. True that it wasn't her most glamorous. It was plain in the wrong light. But it had been Celia's. And it meant something precious to her when she wore it now, a piece of who she was carried with her, but also very publicly displayed. It had brought her joy. She shimmied a finger across her nose and sniffed again, shook out her hair, and put her shoulders back.

Gradually, the volume of conversation rose again. Eleanor tucked Caroline's bangs behind her ears and held her eyes. "You'll ignore them. Some people are rain clouds, and some are parades."

Caroline narrowed her eyes. "I suppose." They hadn't even needed to say anything. They hadn't offered helpful hints on tying it, or adjusted it where it might have slipped off her shoulder, just personal distaste. What was she supposed to do with that? Clearly that was the scarf Caroline wanted to wear - she hadn't tromped over to their house and tied it around their necks. What was the point?

Eleanor poked her with her elbow. "Let it go. I'm right. As usual. Give it a minute to sink in. What's my magnanimous motto for the hoi polloi?"

Caroline chuckled. "Let them eat cake?"

"Yes." Eleanor placed a hand on her hip and stuck her nose high in the air, and Caroline loved her desperately.

Lifted, all the things Caroline hadn't said in the moment crashed around in her head, and she muttered under her breath. "Hmph. 'Let them eat cake.' Those two? I doubt they've had their fair share in far too long."

Eleanor's brow traveled up as her mouth dropped, and she laughed. She nudged Caroline's shoulder and planted a kiss at the side of her head. "I love you."

Caroline took her hand. "Love you back."

They reached the counter. Caroline, still undecided, remained further from a choice than ever.

Eleanor looked her over. She narrowed her eyes overacting a choice that, as long as Caroline had known her, had never changed. "I'll have triple dark chocolate."

"Yes ma'am." The young woman across the counter looked to Caroline.

"I – em – "

Another wince from Eleanor to a flat-footed Caroline. "She'll have vanilla chocolate chip."

The girl scooped and returned. She rang them up, and before they departed –"Ma'am - I like your scarf. It reminds me of my mum. It made me smile." She grinned and looked from Caroline down to the red Formica counter top.

Caroline smiled back at her and caught her eye as she looked up again. "That's a lovely thing for you to say. Thank you."

And with that Caroline's world turned all the way back around.

They left the shop and headed toward the green, past an open central plaza filled with families and children chasing pigeons. Buskers anchored the corners. Eleanor stopped at each to offer a polite clap and a token. At one, a petite young girl stood with a large, battered Martin guitar that surely must have time traveled to her from the 1970's, or her mother's own hands.

She sang loud and proud, head thrown back, stomping out the rhythm, strumming the chords, and slapping out a back-beat on the maple. Something about fights and boats and waves and matches and explosions. Caroline didn't quite understand the song, but the simple, compulsory passion was more contagious than whatever skill inherent in the music she made.

Little by little, by the time they'd made their way toward the side-streets and the car, for the second time that morning Caroline felt again as though she might abandon every sensibility she'd ever had and madly chase a dream across oceans and deserts.

Luckily for Caroline, that dream was strolling right at her side.


	12. Chapter 12

"Caroline. About that something I need to tell you."

Eleanor's tone was light and sweet like Caroline's ice cream, but it soured in her ears. It was a partner's go at covering anxiety. As ineffective as a child's attempt to paste together a crushed favorite vase and pass it off as unbroken. The emotional drivers the very same as well, trying to hide pain from one and thereby betraying fear in the other.

"Eleanor." The sun shone high in the sky as the edges of Caroline's world dimmed.

"It's okay. It will be fine. I promise." Eleanor's sudden disinterest in her ice cream broke a sheen of cold sweat at the base of Caroline's spine.

They strolled on, hand in hand, and she played along with Eleanor's ruse. "What will be fine?"

"I will. But the week you left, I had a follow-up visit with my gynecologist. For an ultrasound."

Caroline balked at choices that would continue to come home and roost, no matter how strong the new links in the armor of their relationship. Her self-control evaporated. "Eleanor. Whatever else was happening between us – you should have – "

"Should have what? Let me finish." Eleanor squeezed her hand, gentling the rebuke. "I had that follow up because I had a cyst. And I don't have a history. And as you know very, very well, I'm on the final backstretch of our glorious journey through menopause together. It's not a favorable combo."

Another quick hand squeeze. Caroline's ice cream developed a sheen and a drop fell to the pavement.

"It was unusual. But not immediately problematic. So we waited to see if it resolved on its own."

Her wife knew her well, played her well. The outside world was a much better place for this conversation than the hotel. It forced her to hold herself together, shove down the panic and keep it in check. Mostly. "That's ridiculous. Why would you wait? You should have gotten a second opinion. You should have found someone intelligent, who would do something."

"I did get a second opinion. And she also recommended I wait."

"Well when does all this do-nothing waiting come to a _conclusion_?"

"Thursday."

" _This_ Thursday?"

"Yes. I've been back already, for another follow up. It's grown. And I've developed some pain, here and there. Some nausea. Symptoms that aren't necessarily bad, or good." Eleanor took a deep breath in, and the rest poured out of her in a gush. "So they're going to remove it and biopsy it."

" _Bi_ opsy it?" Caroline very nearly threw down her ice cream and resisted the urge to swat down Eleanor's half-eaten cone. Instead she took and set both on the ground at their feet, and then took her hands. There wasn't any bravado left in Eleanor's brown eyes. "I'm so sorry. And this is going to be _fine_. You're going to be _fine_." Caroline leaned toward her, ferocious concentration on Eleanor's face. "This is going to turn out to be nothing."

Eleanor wiped her eyes, put the back of her wrist to her nose. She shook her head and blinked, long lashes wet. "I know. But you picked quite a time to throw a temper tantrum, darling."

Caroline blanched and looked away.

"I know it's short notice – but can you take me?"

"Absolutely. Of course. I – what had you been planning?" Caroline paused to look around, to locate herself and recontextualize her world. They were just past the public library now, near a quiet park she'd often visited with Flora after their weekly visits.

"Come on. Let's sit." She clutched Eleanor's hand and they walked in silence, discarding their melted ice cream along the way.

The park was empty. It was clear, but colder as the day wore on. Caroline lead them to a favorite bench under a bare elm, facing the brown-orange façade of the small library. The view was prettier to her than it ought to be, because in her mind she still saw a tiny Flora laboring up the steps one by one.

She turned her attention back to Eleanor. "What were you going to do, Eleanor?"

"Catherine was going to help me."

"Catherine. Your boss? That bitch?" Caroline shook her head, hair flying.

Eleanor smiled and narrowed her eyes. "I've known her since I was a teenager. We've been through it together, more times than I can count. And I wouldn't put it on Jane or Gillian to keep something like this from you."

"And Flora?" It was impossible that Flora knew any of this. She was as incapable of harboring a lie or an ugly truth as Eleanor. It was shocking her wife had kept it from her this long. If they'd been under the same roof –

"It's why I asked Greg to take her a second weekend – she's got that sleepover those couple nights this week, and then straight back to school next Monday. I thought it would be enough time. If not - ." Eleanor paused. "I knew I couldn't keep it from her or from you forever."

"No." Caroline's guilt hung from her as heavily as spring snow from green branches.

"I'm afraid I'll have yet another scar on my otherwise perfect stomach."

"Number three?" Caroline held up three shaking fingers and laughed.

"Will you still love my stomach?"

Caroline laughed again and handed out the compliment Eleanor intended to provoke. "Stop. And nothing about you is 'otherwise perfect.' Just perfect."

"I have missed you. So much. I don't think anyone else would indulge me the way you do."

"Not likely." Caroline stared at Eleanor, but her attention and her irritation wandered. "Why now. We have enough."

Eleanor smiled, her voice soft and bittersweet, the meat at the pit of the peach. "When does life ever happen one thing at a time?"

"I don't know. Never." Caroline put a hand to Eleanor's face and tried to look as contrite as she felt. But it was a mangled emotion, and now tortured by her inability to make this all go away for Eleanor. "You could have – you didn't have to - you didn't deserve to do this alone. I would have come home."

Eleanor stood and paced in front of her, hands shoved in her pockets, her restless mind and her body always linked. "I didn't want that. Because I don't deserve your pity, either. What I deserve is to love you any way I want. I deserve to know that what's happened, will never happen again."

"Yes. You do." Caroline nodded. "And it won't. I can guarantee that. Right here. Right now."

"Thank you." Eleanor sat again and sniffed. She gave Caroline a subtle smile. "I've had time to do some thinking about life and choices, and the chances we have and the chances we take. I remembered something I wanted to share with you. Why I wouldn't have ever let you go. And won't. Something from the first night that I met you at that parent mixer when you came to Sulgrave Heath, twenty years ago."

Caroline snickered. "Those were really the days for both of us."

"Indeed. You - with a husband of all things. Me with the worst haircut I or anyone else has ever had the bad judgement to try and wear in public."

They both grinned. Both pushing back hard against all the past and present that wanted to edge its way between them.

"I remembered meeting you that night. How I felt confident and bold and alive after talking with you for only five minutes. How on my drive home I kept asking myself, 'Why couldn't you have married someone like her? Why couldn't you have found someone like Caroline Dawson?'"

Eleanor stood again, crossed her arms, and faced the park. Caroline came up behind and wrapped her up. Eleanor continued. "You were my second chance. To get it right. And I only make a mistake once. So whatever you deserve, and whatever I deserve, I'll always make damn sure we get it."

Caroline rested her chin on Eleanor's shoulder and kissed her cheek. "You were my – " She paused for another kiss. "You were my fourth chance, I think I'd say. And after three, Kate's death - well, I'd just given up. I'd given up, Eleanor, and it was the worst place I've ever been. Hopeless."

"There's always hope, Caroline."

"There is. Look at us. Sometimes loving you is the hardest thing I've ever done."

Eleanor pushed out her lips and tilted her chin. "And?"

"Every other second is like waking up in the morning. Like a miracle happened while I was dreaming."

Eleanor turned inside Caroline's arms, wriggled her hand under Caroline's scarf to her chest. "Love and hope. Both worth a little work. Enduring the worst of each other, to get at the best."

"I'll take your worst parts. All your parts." Caroline would. For a love this fierce and indestructible, she would. For a love this passionate and gentle, she would. For all the days in front of them, long or short, she'd take it and make the most of it.

The breeze picked up as the sun passed behind a thin grey cloud and became a sharp white sphere.

"I've taken you for your ice cream. May I take you home now?"

Eleanor snuck a finger up to tap Caroline's nose. "On one condition."

Caroline looked skyward. The sun reappeared again, and she closed her eyes. She feigned concentration before she looked down to respond. "No more talking?"

"No more talking." Eleanor bit her lip and grabbed Caroline's coat lapels, who stepped back and held out a hand as she started the walk toward the car.

"Fine. I don't think the words for what I want to communicate should be said out loud."

"Maybe not. But maybe you should try and see what happens."

Caroline cast a look sideways at her wife, and doubled her pace.

* * *

 **Fin.**

* * *

 _I know I've given this short shrift with a broad brush, but I've loved finishing, so to speak, Caroline and Eleanor's story. If you read - thanks, because sharing is what brings the real happiness to it. If you sent a supportive note, I thank you for that as well. Of course C and E are never done, really. If you miss the ladies like I do, you can always put on "This Girl" by Kungs v. Cookin' on 3 Burners and I promise they'll appear just like djinn. :-)_

 _When I think about publishing more or re-publishing the originals I still get a little poke from a tiny scar on my heart in the shape of a caution flag. A little stamp left by folks who eagerly pounced when I made a mistake. Correspondingly, there are certainly pieces from the Imagined series that need to be improved, revised and some to be excised completely before I'd even dream of republishing. All things in their own time, I guess._

 _Perhaps yes, these new stories lack an innocent joie de vivre of the previous. But we can't just ignore our experiences. Mine on this site have left a thumbprint. And I won't revere the virginal when it's the texture of the mature that weaves the beauty of the magnificent inspiration behind it all, one Ms. Caroline Dawson Elliott McKenzie (Strathclyde) - may she live forever in our imaginations._


	13. We'll Always Have Paris

_A/N - perhaps the world's longest, and longest time to finish, epilogue. I think I know where this is going but not at all when I'll write it. This part of the story begins about two years after the previous chapter of Nothing More._

* * *

Across the smooth cobbled street from Eleanor, Caroline came to a sudden stop and hid as well as she could in the recessed entry of the shuttered wine shop at her back. Her wife had not yet seen her. This opportunity was not to be missed.

She imagined Eleanor coming right to life on the streets of Paris - the smile on her face, the wave of a hand, the little lift of her heel - when she caught sight of her, and did not want to rush the experience. As she imagined the scene, like a flower turning toward the dawn, Caroline felt a bloom of warmth within. Her arteries spread wide to welcome it and drive the spring chill from her toes and fingers.

The morning sun, brittle and bright above them, was favoring the flowers today. As quickly as the breeze it passed in and out of the puffed clouds. Early showers had abated leaving shining, steaming clean streets as Caroline had bustled in secret through their temporary, all-consuming world, the ancient _arrondissement_. But the early April damp clung to the air and scarves were still wrapped as thick as a mother's love at the necks of passers-by.

Though she was still allegedly sleeping off the bottle of wine and the many delights of the night before, Caroline watched as in front of their new favorite patisserie Eleanor leaned against a slim, gray stone pillar separating two wide panes of plate glass displaying scrumptious temptations. One hand holding her rich daily constant, a _pan-au-chocolate_ protected by parchment, the other hand tucked into the pocket of her simple shift dress exposing long, coltish legs that must be cold despite the swing-coat hanging just below the hem of the skirt. The dress wasn't _too_ simple of course. Never too simple with Eleanor. The bold blue and navy polka-dot pattern was broken at the waist by a large solid-white bow-tie stitched on at either side of her angled hips.

The incorporated bow had snake-charmed Eleanor the minute she'd seen it in the store-front. The dress _had_ to be hers, of course. Even more importantly, Caroline had to see her in it. Had to see a pure, simple-pleasure filled smile coming from her as she strutted out of the dressing room.

A simple smile on her wife's pert lips had been all that she had wanted for the past month, ever since Eleanor's oncologist had declared her to be in full remission. The doctor, big-jowled and filled with all the carry-on British gravitas one could hope for in a physician, had made a convincing case for optimism when it came to Eleanor's long-term victory. There had been buckets of joy in their home that night and many that followed. It was a deep and profound thing, equally weighted against and provoked by the side-stepping of devastation. A whistle in a graveyard.

So the answer to the question in Eleanor's brown eyes as they stood inside the small pink and green striped boutique sipping espresso and nibbling cookies, staring and judging the merit of the garment, had been an immediate 'yes.' The cost was dear, but the reflexive, indulgent delight it bought was worth twice the price on the tag.

Eleanor had protested, meekly, because Caroline had taught her to at least try at an illusion of thrift. "Darling I love it. It's positively edible. But I give it less than six weeks before I grow out of it."

Meant to be an objection, the statement had reinforced her resolve to buy. Her wife's constant growth this past month correlated to a peacefulness within her. With every kilo put back on after the wasting chemo, Caroline shed an equal amount of dread.

Feeling the opposite of all things dreadful, Caroline stood under the shaded awning, hidden as Eleanor shone gloriously across the street. She imagined one more time the scene that would play out next and felt her anticipation resonate bodily like the church bells of Notre Dame, gently tolling against walls of her heart. When she could contain her wanting no more, she stepped forward.

From Eleanor, a bite of her pastry and then a glance around. And then, what Caroline had been waiting for.

Mingled with blatant pleasure on Eleanor's face came an equal amount of surprise, finishing in a giant smile, a giant wave, and a boisterous "What are you doing?" shouted from across the street.

Caroline didn't necessarily place a higher intrinsic value to unexpected bliss, but there was still a certain magic to the way it lifted every line on Eleanor's face. Magical described Caroline's world at this second, a vibrant day, a vibrant woman wearing a smile only for her. Magical to be welcomed with such abandon into brave Eleanor's heart. It still made Caroline feel simultaneously minuscule in the face of it and giant with the headiness of it, the awed recipient of an heirloom passed hand-to-hand in reverent tones by a great-grandmother. They had been fifteen years together now, but the small joyful moments meant no less to her every time another was realized. Perhaps they meant even more.

Today, they were safe, alive, and wonderful. Cocooned by love, a pair on leisurely holiday surrounded by the foreign. Even more intimate together within it, exploring and enjoying it as one.

Eleanor waved again, an easy little swish of her hand this time. They both took a step forward, and laughed as they stood at the edge of their respective curbs.

Caroline called out first. "Stay there. I'll come to you. I want a _chausson a pomme._ Two weeks into their adventure the language was coming a little more easily to her, but certainly didn't roll of her tongue the way it played from Eleanor's. To be honest, Caroline might have even feigned ineptitude on occasion just to hear her wife navigate transactions with the natives on their behalf. A humble ignorance she would never have pretended decades ago.

Eleanor glanced over her shoulder into the window, seemingly eyeing the pastry inventory, and called back. "You're in luck."

 _'Yep. I definitely am.'_ Caroline looked left, then right, then crossed into the sunshine to hug her thinned, waiting wife.

Eleanor tore off a piece of her croissant and popped it into Caroline's open mouth. "When I've finished mine, can I finish yours as well? Or shall I just get another?"

"Only if you promise to be hungry for falafel by tea time."

"I promise I'll work up an appetite." Eleanor kissed her cheek, took her hand, and pulled her toward the shopfront.

"You will, because we have two museums to see by then, and they're quite a ways apart."

"You're running me absolutely ragged."

Caroline's feet planted and stopped as short as her heart did. "I am not. Don't say that." They stood just inside the shop, where the smell of baking butter filled every bit of her nose.

"I'm sorry. Just me being me. You know that. Look. I'm robust. Straining my seams already."

She wasn't busting anything, but as Eleanor held out the slack on her dress Caroline smiled all the same for her efforts. It defied belief for those outside the pair - she truly was the sensitive one of the two. Caroline felt ridiculous whenever she felt so fragile these days. Eleanor, after all, had been the one waiting to die. For months, Eleanor had been the one with her head in the toilet a week at a time, her head on the pillow a week at a time, and then her head floating disconnected through life trying to reclaim anything grounding and mundane until the cycle repeated itself. It had been Eleanor, not her, enduring little, temporary deaths over and over to try and avoid the big, bad, permanent one.

Her analyst had explained to her how these things worked. Therapy, of all things – Caroline had never pictured herself whining at a stranger and paying for the privilege. But the initial blinding terror of losing Eleanor to an ovary gone rogue had been tempered only by a steady, sneaky, constant rise of anxiety. Soon Caroline was fraying the edges of napkins both paper and cloth at every sitting, forgetting her keys in strange places with regularity, getting even less sleep than Eleanor, and worst of all abundantly and constantly furious at anyone who crossed her path. A loose cap on the milk resulted in a tongue-lashing for Flora. A tea mug left in the sink resulted in a rage-filled tornado of a tirade at Eleanor that had actually horrified and hurt Caroline more than it had her wife. Her burden had become too heavy, and she could not ask Eleanor to carry any of it.

A hurried and efficient-looking man brushed against her as he passed through the open door behind them, breaking her reverie.

"All right. You will say though, if I really do go too far – if you get tired."

"I've been begging for naps this entire trip."

"You've been insinuating we ought to spend more time in bed. That's completely different." Emotional crisis of the moment resolved, Caroline stepped toward the pastry counter.

A petite young girl with a pinched face and brown hair pulled back into a messy bun met her with a string of greetings.

Caroline caught some of it, and responded. " _Bon jour_."

This brought forth from the very nice girl even more words. She recognized maybe every other one, a broken staccato like Morse code slugging far too slowly through her mind. By the time she'd figured out one word, three others had passed. She smiled and pointed at the apple turnover.

"Ah very good." The young woman came back at her with perfect English. Now she wondered how to respond. Would it be insulting to mangle the French language further with her heavy-tongued, labored accent? Would it be polite to keep trying?

" _Merci, merci. Avoir une merveilleuse matinée_." Eleanor stepped forward, poetic in her aid, and grabbed the offered pastry with a playful bump on Caroline's hip, whose fluster turned right to satisfaction.

They took a café table outside large enough only to hold their pastries and their coffee. They ate and chatted about nothing while Paris woke around them. Sparrows danced at their feet seeking discarded crumbs. Women of all ages traipsed by in dresses and shoes that turned Eleanor's head. They recognized familiar faces, other regulars at the café, and even exchanged greetings with some of them. Storefronts came up with clattering waves of steel. Traffic, foot and vehicle, picked up in volume, a shout here and a horn there. A strip of blue above, running between the buildings, pulled Caroline's eye again and again to the glittering gold chariots of the Opera Garnier at the end of the bustling boulevard. The filigree in Paris was brighter than any she'd seen. As though the tiny layers had been applied with a lighter touch, a defter hand, and a purer heart. She stared at the glittering horses charging into the abyss of blue until Eleanor finished her pastry and piped up.

"It feels wonderful to be exhausted, Caroline. Because I'm tired for the right reasons. I'm not tired from chemo or depression. I'm tired because I've spent the day hoofing around the most romantic city in the world, traipsing through museum after museum filled with sculptures of naked goddesses, alongside the woman I love."

Caroline snorted into her cappuccino. "If I never see another naked woman carved from marble or painted on canvas again, it will be too soon."

"I don't even know how to respond to that. You can't mean it."

"I do – because half the time the poor ladies are accompanied by a naked, flaccid man lounging next to them."

"I'm so terribly sorry you have to suffer our indulgence in iconic, timeless art."

"Mmmmm." Mindful of the time and getting to another one of those museums, Caroline rose and they wandered on, away from the retail world and toward the Tuileries. She certainly wasn't an expert when it came to Paris, but she noticed more and more international brands and English-dominated store fronts along all the commercial boulevards since the last time she'd been. It was a bit of a disappointment.

What wasn't a disappointment was the macaron shop she had in mind to visit on their way to the next destination. Set right next to a very overpriced national favorite, hers did not turn up their delicate French noses when she only ordered one piece in her broken accent, the orange and saffron filled bite of paradise she treated herself to once a day, if not twice.

Eleanor's hand snuck its way into Caroline's. "We can take a break from naked women today, if you'd like."

 _'It's okay if you want to indulge Eleanor, Caroline. It's okay to do things for yourself as well.'_ Her analyst's voice spoke in her head, just in time to cut off her planned response. She crafted another. "It's not that I don't love the classics. Three days at the Louvre was barely enough."

"Of course. I wouldn't tour with anyone else. Who needs those annoying, insufficient, tin in your ear tours - when I have you."

Caroline squeezed Eleanor's hand, so bony and cool compared to how it ought to be, and pulled it with hers into her jacket pocket. "There is – " She stopped. There was a difference between indulging herself and being inconsiderate.

They walked on, shoulders together, Eleanor silent at her side and waiting as Caroline struggled. She'd say exactly what she meant to say when she ready, and her wife of course knew this particular idiosyncrasy. But what did she want to say?

"It's the catacombs. They've always been my favorite thing and I've been wanting to go. But –" She tapered off, unsure how to continue and willing to let Eleanor pick up and steer the more difficult emotional trail of the conversation, which she did.

"But the catacombs - a little on the nose for our 'Eleanor cheats death' celebratory holiday?"

The catacombs. The city of light's dark and storied past - the mass burial pits for millions claimed by the plague and the misfortune of poverty, lurking deep below. Miles of intricate hidden passages, lined with skulls and femurs, home to the Resistance during the occupation, and now to clever miscreants of the adventurous sort. They captured every corner of Caroline's occasionally morbid imagination. She'd had them on her mind ever since Eleanor had suggested they retreat to Paris in the first place.

The just-greening gardens joining the Louvre and the Champs Elysees emerged as they turned the corner on the imposing baroque buildings fronting the park. Caroline sat on a concrete bench next to the path leading into the manicured Linden trees running along the central allay. "I suppose that particular activity seems a little on point."

Head down, Eleanor pricked the nails of her thumbs together, then looked up and off into the distance toward the great Paris Wheel turning lazily against a turquoise and white sky. Traffic on the wide boulevard above them roared back to life as the light changed.

"I don't think that's top of my list today."

Caroline nodded quickly, her short blonde hair mussing with the force of her agreement. She ran her hands through it and pushed it back behind her ears. Eleanor nodded back at her, and her loose pin-curls shook. She had gone short a few months ago, insisting it was more respectable once she was this far north of fifty. Caroline suspected it had much more to do with the amount of maintenance her long brown-auburn waves demanded. Eleanor's lack of energy, and as the chemo wore on, ability, even, to make them shine as smoothly as she always had was a much more believable culprit.

"I'm not quite up for it – right now – but I think you should go."

"No. It's fine. Bit of a sinister trip on my own."

"Isn't that half the fun of it?" The breeze picked up and the sun ducked in and out on them, warm, then cool, then warm again. Caroline pulled her scarf tighter. Eleanor's gaze shifted across the way and over the lime-green canopy of trees to the relatively simple, long, low-profile of the Orangerie, the museum that had been their intended destination. They were to see Monet's Water Lilies on canvas before taking the train to Giverny next week to meet Flora and see them in person.

"Perhaps." The eeriness was _most_ of the fun of it, and for a second Caroline reconsidered her visit. She was less afraid of fear now, and perhaps the tombs would hold less intrigue. After her entire life falling apart the first time, after she put it back together with Kate, then lost Kate, after she lost Celia and all her precious, protective notions about her father, after she'd managed to hang on to Eleanor through it all, after she'd watched Eleanor linger on that terrible black threshold, she felt burnished.

Would they be as she remembered? Would the catacombs still hold her favor? Bring about the same thrill of adventure, the same fascination? Caroline was curious.

Eleanor shifted away from her on the bench, but the angle gave each woman a better look at the other. "I think you should. If you'd like to, I really think you should go. It's okay. I won't vanish on you if you turn your head. I promise."

"That's right to the heart of it." A gust of air rushed from the center of Caroline's chest.

"I've never minced words. And now I'm even more likely to say exactly what I mean, aren't I? A little perspective will do that."

"I hate the perspective you've gained. I hate the entire journey to and from that vista point. I'm more cynical now than I ever have been, and that's saying something." Caroline had become a rabid springer on the hunt for light-hearted happiness. A happiness that pretended there would never be a last day together, a happiness that took absolutely everything for granted. She was sick and tired, absolutely exhausted, from appreciating each moment as though it were their last. She wanted nothing more than superficial ease - to take her wife, their life, and their love, for granted.

Eleanor laughed as she stood. "Blasphemy. Every single self-help pamphlet I read in every waiting room for every treatment demanded we savor every moment of our short lives for what it is. It's all about the journey, destination be damned, my darling."

"Oh you complained about that rubbish at every time it crossed your path."

"I did - because it is rubbish if you take it too seriously. It's fine to glance around on occasion and decide you'd rather dine with Boris Johnson than continue suffering whatever's happening at the moment."

With the turn of phrase, the thought of a life absent Eleanor's dramatic manner whipped Caroline's mind. They walked on toward the museum. Off to the west, looming large against the Eiffel Tower, stood a bank of thick, dark-bottomed, white-topped clouds.

"How about this. Morning at the Orangerie as planned. We can wait out the April showers. Then falafel, and then I'm off to the catacombs. And you can nap away the afternoon in that big bed you're on and on about in the flat."

"I'm only and on and on about that bed if you're in it with me."

"I'll be back in plenty of time for a little disco nap before dinner."

"Wake me up before you go – "

Caroline rushed to put a finger to Eleanor's lips. "Don't you dare finish. I'll toss my breakfast all over your shoes."

"You wouldn't. I love these shoes. They're cute _and_ perfect for walking."

"We promised no more George Michael, God rest his soul, after that regrettable incident with Jane, Gillian, and your drunken crooning of _Freedom_. In public. With people watching." The screech of the high notes from the trio still tore at Caroline's sanity.

"It was all the tequila's fault. And that song says every single thing I feel about you. It came from the heart."

"Oh it's sophomoric. Regardless. There was a promise made. You can literally sing anything else on earth and you know I'll adore it." That was the absolute truth. Well – minus Taylor Swift. A separate bargain about that had been struck after Flora spent a full week 'shaking it off,' often right to her mothers' frustrated faces.

"It's a deal." Eleanor pointed to her cheek. "Seal it up."

"Gladly." Caroline delivered the collateral on the barter and threw in a real kiss for good measure. "Love you."

"Love you back."

Onward they strolled through the perfectly scaled gardens and trees to their first stop of the day. Exactly as Caroline predicted, the rain came and went as they lingered and adored from very close-up beautifully meaningless smudges of paint, from afar the perfectly captured bucolic bliss of muted tableau, and from all possible angles the larger-than-life lilies blossoming across the oval Monet rooms.

Always clever but never quite psychic, Caroline's prognostications went right off the rails after that. She was nowhere near Eleanor, or their bed, when dinner time came and went.


	14. Chapter 14

"Well it's just lovely to meet you. This line could have been my undoing," said Caroline, as she finally began the long descent into the catacombs. The stout elderly woman behind her had kept the hour-long wait lively and pleasant.

"I could and will say the same thing to you, young lady. It's nice to meet an independently-minded girl. We have to stick together, you know." The woman kept a gentle hand at Caroline's shoulder as they navigated the stairs. Her hair was thin, white, and held in place with two lop-sided clips at either temple that looked like someone with less dexterity that required had placed them. It was quite a journey down, and Caroline had already spared a thought about what the trip back up the eighty and some-odd steps might look like for her new companion.

"We do at that, Ms. Graham – ehm - Ginny. And you said you've been here how many times?"

"This is my tenth. I come to Paris once a year, and I never miss the catacombs. Usually I'm visiting in the winter. Much more affordable, to travel in the winter. The queues are much shorter as well. Good thing because you'd freeze your toes right off if they weren't!" The woman had dropped her voice below that of the cautionary warning being given by the guard about wandering off. Caroline thought anyone foolish enough to strike out on their own down here deserved what they got. Ginny was quite a talker, clearly someone who didn't have someone to talk to on the regular, and continued on. "My son and his fiancé joined me last year. Didn't make a peep when I insisted we walk everywhere and not take one of those cars that the strangers drive for you. I can't imagine it. Anyway. He's such a good boy."

He certainly looked like a good boy. Caroline had seen several snaps of him on an iPhone that Ginny struggled to work. They'd combined resources to find her pictures icon. When they did, a single folder held squared-off shots of a handsome boy with a mouthful of white teeth and fantastically wavy hair who seemed to singularly enjoy exotic destinations.

After crushing together as a group to hear the introduction, they began the long walk along the walls of bones. Ginny now had hooked an arm through her elbow, was leaning on her a bit, and Caroline slowed her pace to stay with her at the back of the crowd. She hitched her large bag further up her arm and chided herself again for not letting Eleanor take it back to the apartment. What did she need a week's worth of supplies for, for a simple outing?

"You know, after my Walter died, well, how does the expression go, 'Don't postpone joy?' I'd been doing exactly that for forty years. I tossed my handful of dirt onto that coffin and I never looked back. As long as I'm thrifty about it, well, there's just no need to let the grass grow under my feet, is there?"

The tour halted at the entrance to "the realm of death," inscribed on the mantle above them, before continuing on.

Ginny leaned in again for another round of whispers. She reminded Caroline of her own grandmother, memories that smelled like a mix of rose water, dust, must, and encroaching fatigue.

"You know I've only had one or two properly educated docents on my tours. They must have an off-season staff. Not that they don't try hard, of course. Just none of them seem to have read as much as even I have on the subject."

She had a point. Not a word had come from the guide as they'd come down through forty-five million years and an entire textbook's worth of geology. Perhaps something only Caroline would think about -

"They all almost completely skip the wonderful geological features. A French thing, maybe? So enchanted by the romance of death and ethos of the whole thing. Not that I blame them. It's a wonderful counterpoint to the gaiety of it all up top. You know, I suppose, who wants to think about rocks when you can talk about illicit underground parties?" She stopped, adding emphasis to her next remark. "Likely with their share of absinthe consumed." Ginny made her own way now, clutch purse held tightly in both hands.

Caroline laughed and they meandered slowly, ever falling back in the pack and almost out of earshot of the tour guide. It didn't bother her as much as it might have. Ginny was packed with far more interesting bits of trivia. Caroline had already read most of what the docent was revealing to the herd of sheep crowded around him.

"Now this is a treat I never miss." The elderly woman placed a hand at Caroline's arm and pointed to a winding off-shoot from their current passage. The entrance was unremarkable and almost unnoticeable. The misty gray walls were unadorned. Ahead of them, the tour continued around a gentle curve and out of eyeshot.

Caroline looked again down the new passage, and then toward the missing group. She was feeling guilty at ignoring her own advice and chaffing at Ginny's disregard of the rules. On the other hand, she could still hear the guide and his thick French accent. He must have learned English in America. His muddy pronunciation of every other word did nothing to quench her thirst for anything she didn't already know about the catacombs. A moment's delay might yield dividends.

"And what's such a treat?"

Ginny took her hand and led her forward. Just a few meters in, it opened up. Ginny fiddled around with her mobile. After an uneasy second in the dark, light came from the other woman's phone, and Caroline got her answer. They stood in a low-ceilinged, wide rotunda completely walled with bones from every part of any anatomy. Sturdy femurs laid end-wise circled the entire bottom, topped by skulls, topped by what Caroline identified by their thickness and curve as tibia, another row of skulls, then humerus, topped with skulls, and so on progressing up the body, bones shrinking in size to the top of the arrangement.

The enclosure was small, nothing like some of the more intimidating bone-lined foyers and halls. But for the close size, the intimacy of the dead pushed into every breath she took in the room. The effect wasn't so much claustrophobic as it was incisive. Despite her urge to move on, she stilled, paused, and wondered.

"What is this?"

"A popular spot for the miscreants, according to the internet."

"Well I'm glad to have seen it. Thank you." Caroline turned to go back, anxious to catch up with the tour.

"All the good bits of life are hidden off the beaten path."

"Perhaps." She had already taken a few steps back toward the main tunnels when the light went out behind her, and she heard a scuffle.

"Just dropped my phone trying to shut it off." Ginny's voice was agitated and muffled.

"Oh. Can I help?" She asked, as she felt the other woman bump into her, roughly. She placed a hand on the nearby wall to steady herself. It was cool and somehow felt – deep. There were no vibrations, no hum, no life in it. Just unknowable, solid earth. Only a bit of light shone what seemed far away at the entrance to the offshoot where they stood.

"No no. I'm all set now, love, thank you. On we go. Better catch up."

"Yes, we'd better." The thrill of the indiscretion had worn off. Caroline was now almost desperate to rejoin the group. She tried to hurry on, slowed by Ginny. She knew, of course, that nothing dangerous was going to happen. After all, in the worst case, they would simply stay in the main tunnel and wait for the next group. Theirs wasn't the last of the day. Was it? No. And of course whatever French agency was operating the place had to be competent enough to do a final check. Everything was certain to be fine. Caroline assured her jangling nerves that this was true with these very reasonable arguments. They refused to believe her however, and continued vibrating her extremities until, just ahead of them, she heard the docent's once-annoying French accent.

They snuck their way to the edges of the back of the tour. One or two other patrons turned to them, sporting querulous glances, but said nothing.

"Would you check my phone, Caroline? I think it's working alright, after I dropped it, but these things – I don't –" Ginny whispered and held it out with a thin hand trembling with just the slightest palsy.

"Sure. Will you key in your code, though? It's locked?"

"Of course."

Caroline flipped through a couple home screens and opened a few apps. All seemed in working order.

"Looks good to me."

"Thanks for indulging an old woman."

"Not at all." She smiled down at Ginny, who had held her arm as she'd sort of dragged her on, forcing the woman's careful steps to quicken. She took a breath of cool, earthy air, then patted her hand. She smiled again, meaning it this time. "Not at all. It's why I came down here in the first place – to get a bit of an adventure."

* * *

It was dark in the flat and dark outside when Eleanor woke. Their temporary upstairs neighbor was at the piano again. He or she wasn't exactly – learning. More like experimenting. Here and there between perfectly lovely passages came off-key, dissonant clanging of the sort she expected to hear in French avant-garde cinema of the lowest quality. Black, white, and bloody with the heavy hand of the artist who had no direction other than, "this will be so very different."

The three-story walk-up was charming, exposed millwork in the creamy low ceilings and the authentic feel of the 1700s right down to the creaking floors. Their apartment was renovated and gorgeous and spacious. The looked out over a lively little alley and Monsieur Henri, the wine bar across the way. The quarters were arranged around an open courtyard that brought in the sunlight – and also sound.

The pianist did not keep conventional hours, either. The last recital had come at two in the morning the night before. Eleanor had found it amusing and so perfectly Paris. Caroline had not.

In any case, she had slept long past the time she anticipated her wife being home to take her for cheese and wine, and then dinner. And then dessert. And then, of course, a nightcap at their new regular on the Seine, on the Louvre quay. A small café on the corner of the quiet street fronting the river. Their house wine better than Caroline's, and the little tables enjoyed a perfect view of the hourly sparkling Tour Eiffel. Caroline was becoming worried she wouldn't be able to get Eleanor to ever leave Paris. Her concern probably wasn't that misplaced.

Eleanor stretched her arms up, her legs out, across the bed that was large, but still harder than she cared for. Her hip bones, in particular, were sore these last two weeks. More exposed than they'd been since she was a coltish self-starved teenager, they jutted into the unyielding mattress and made laying on her side quite uncomfortable. The pastries were meant to help things, but with Caroline hoofing her around the entire city the wrong equilibrium had been reached.

Living in the true spirit of vacation and abandon she had not set an alarm. She'd always been a woman who appreciated self-indulgence. Since the cancer she'd redoubled her commitment to joie de vivre. She picked up her phone and swiped on.

"Christ."

It was almost ten PM. There was no word at all from Caroline, not a text, a call, nothing. She should have been home at least – four hours ago. Eleanor flew out of the bed.

"Caroline?" She charged into the open great room – "Caroline?"

No answer came. She placed a hand against the kitchen counter, leaned hard on it. She checked the phone again. She stared at the screen. Nothing. She stared longer. Perhaps she was stuck somewhere on the subway. Caroline for some reason, though they had long mastered traveling by the metro and had nothing to gain from the experience but fatigue and the lingering scent of body odor in their nostrils, insisted on being pedestrian.

She opened their shared Friend Finder. She clicked on the app and blew hot air through drawn lips as she watched the little circle whirl, searching for her wife.

It settled in the middle of the Seine just south-ish of the D'Orsay - then zoomed inland and landed – at the Catacombs.

"What the hell?"

She clicked out of the map and dialed. It didn't even ring before the voicemail picked up.

"Hel- _lo_. You've reached Caro _line_. Leave a message, please."

She searched and then dialed the number for the catacombs. The after-hours greeting and no other option.

Eleanor paced and worried for another minute, then made up her mind. She didn't even consider what she was putting on as she threw clothes over her naked, angular body, grabbed whatever coat her hand landed on hanging on the rack, fumbled with the old locks, turning them the wrong ways first, then jamming them, finally mastering them, then flew out the door, dialing Caroline's mobile once again as she took the narrow, steep stairs to the ground floor too quickly.


	15. Ships in the Night

"I'm never going to get out of here." It was half-ten and Caroline was trapped in the Parisian catacombs, but not in any way that even her tortured imagination might dream up while she'd been waylaid in that rotunda by that damned old woman. "You can't just _hold_ people like this. It must be against some law."

"We are both in this same boat, madame," came the typically slurred reply from the dandruff-laden Frenchman who held her captive. "I don't want to be here either. And I can remind you please that you are the one who has done the wrong thing."

"I didn't _do_ _any_ thing _wrong_. I've told you I have no idea _at all_ how that bone wound up in my _bag_. I did not steal it. Do I look like someone who just steals artifacts? What was I going to _do_ with it? _Sell_ it? Put it in a glass case on _display_ , and point it out to all my friends at dinner parties and say, look there, that's the fibula I nicked from the catacombs last spring?"

Stuck in the cramped fragrant back office for hours already, her temper had already boiled over several times. None of her tirades had moved the manager tasked with babysitting her until she could be – dear God – transported to a station to be interviewed by the _police judiciare._ At least that's what she thought she'd been able to make out for her fate from half-understood one-sided phone conversations. The office chair to which she was zip-tied was tilted. The thick white plastic band leashed her to her discomfort. The chair itself had been zip-tied to a massive oak desk, behind which the man, Paul, he was called, sat alternately staring at her and ignoring her. Were she not hours into this and desperate to use the loo, it would have been comical. The hardened criminal indeed, bound from escape by aging office furniture. What would they have done if she'd initiated her thieving enterprises at the Cartier Foundation down the road, and all they had were Eames knock-offs to waylay her flight?

She was hungry, angry, lonely, tired, and through the combination of all those things a little hopeless. She'd also already cried at least three times. Her bag had been confiscated of course, and she'd had to use paper towels for tissues. Her nose and her eyes were raw and red. It smelled of vaguely of sewer and strongly of body odor in the small room she feared never leaving. The music from the radio was not charming French jazz, but some sort of Eastern club mix that grated on her ears – the repetition of the beat like a hammer driving home the nails in her shrinking coffin of despair.

Why had she ever, ever left Eleanor or their flat this afternoon?

"Can I please, please just call my – " She paused. "Can I call the woman I'm traveling with?"

"No. We don't have to wait so much longer now." Paul looked down at his mobile that had just lit. "They will come for you soon."

"Fantastic." She slumped back and put a hand over her rumbling stomach. Falafel and the Marais were a million miles away. She wished, more than anything, to see Eleanor's face right now. If she were just with her, everything would seem not better, but – endurable.

* * *

Eleanor pounded on the tourist's entrance to the catacombs with the palm of her hand. The painted wooden door wasn't giving an inch under the battering. _"Bonsoir? Bonsoir?"_ She waited, narrowed her eyes at one of the rare passing strangers, a man who deigned to stare, then started up again. _"Aidez-moi, s'il vous plait."_

Traffic had not been difficult at this late hour. The city was gloriously lit, Notre Dame charging the night with its holy glow, the globes of the bridges of the Seine marking easy passage across the Île de la Cité from the Marais into the 14th. It would have been the perfect time for a romantic tour.

The Lyft driver who dropped her off had offered to stay a moment, after she'd convinced him she actually wanted to be dropped right here at the entrance, long after the place had closed. Apparently, she looked these days much more like an aging woman who needed assistance than a fine young thing looking for a party. It was the least of her worries. But - still.

She'd turned down his offer with a sweet smile and a nice tip.

She backed away from the door and paced a tight circle in front of it. She had already called the police while driving here. The many questions and transfers had maxed out her language skills and her patience. It seemed they had no record of any woman named Caroline Dawson in their system, nor of anyone being brought to a local station from the catacombs.

She searched, then found, the nearest hospital and was ready to request another car when the door opened.

An older man with a thick head of silver hair and a large, hooked, reddening nose peered out. _"Oui, oui, qu'est-ce que tu veux?"_

" _S'il vous plait, y a-t-il une femme ici nommée Caroline?"_

He raised his finger, nodded, shook his head and spat out, _"Oui. Cette chienne. La police l'a finalement emmenée. Pourquoi quelqu'un est-il si mignon?"_

She was in no mood for backhanded compliments, nor for hearing insults about her missing Caroline. _"Elle est ma femme. Où est-elle?"_

" _Votre femme? Je suis désolé."_

"Well isn't it lucky for all of us that you aren't married to her." Eleanor wasn't sure if he spoke English or not. She did need his help. _"Je suis désolé._ _Mon nom est Eleanor. Comment vous appelez-vous?"_

" _Paul."_

" _Paul, je suis inquiet. S'il vous plaît, où l'ont-ils emmenée?"_

"They took her to a station. She stole from us."

He did speak English. And – what? "She stole something? That can't be."

"This is what she keeps saying." He shrugged, impossibly French, maddeningly "Such is life, what can we do?" Eleanor generally subscribed to the _laissez faire_ attitude, but not about everything. Certainly not about this.

"Can you please tell me which station they took her to, the address?" Whatever Caroline was accused of, could be sorted later.

He stared. She couldn't make out the form of the shadows covering his face. It wasn't terribly bright under the awning of the vestibule. Just a shallow pool of light dimly cast on the two strangers negotiating in the middle of the cool spring night. Had she spoken too quickly, or was he denying her? He was her last best chance to find Caroline before the morning, when an entire firm's worth of Strathclyde barristers _and_ solicitors would be unleashed on the city of Paris and the nation of France.

She asked again, trying French again, a sort of emphasis to the plea.

" _L'adresse où ils l'ont emmenée? S'il vous plait, monsieur? Ma femme - "_ Eleanor stopped, because she realized she was about to cry.

" _Oui, oui. Commissariat XIV Arrondissement. 112 Avenue du Maine."_ He shook his head, then dropped it a bit. "Now I have paperwork. So much. And my wife, _she_ is not happy either."

" _Merci. Merci beaucoup."_ Eleanor bowed a little. "Thank you."

She studied the map. It was a ten-minute walk to the police station. It was dark, it was late, but standing here waiting for a car didn't seem like the safest plan. And she'd feel better if she were moving. She pictured Caroline, disheveled and mad because she was scared, locked away alone in a small room deep inside what looked on the map like a massive building. Hopefully alone, because things would be worse for everyone if she weren't. She set off down the empty street at a brisk pace. Blocks away, a siren from an unseen emergency vehicle started up, sending out a see-sawing wail into the quiet city gloom.

* * *

The flash from a camera went off a few feet away and Caroline blinked. Her eyes were too dry for tears and her lids rasped over sandpaper-covered eyeballs. The police woman now taking her picture had not responded to any of her questions. She was comically over made-up. It was jail. Didn't they have more respectful rules about that? Her hair was jet black, poorly dyed and showing silver at the roots. _That's the only real crime here,_ she laughed to herself.

"I could have walked here in five minutes, hours ago. _Why_ was I waiting in that place for so long?" Caroline stood with her arms crossed protectively over her chest. For no reason other than breeding and habit, she was trying not to get ink on her new jail clothing from the powdery black smudges on her fingers. She'd been _booked,_ for chrissake. She thought about Jane laughing at her, but then again, she probably wouldn't be laughing. The French police seemed to be taking this alleged crime very seriously, and her fervent denials not quite so. _Why_ would she ever steal a damn leg bone from anywhere? That was the question she kept asking them. She asked herself repeatedly _how_ it had even gotten into her bag in the first place.

"Can I please, please, -" She paused and thought as hard as her brain would allow her at this hour, and in this place, in this condition. "Sil vu play, emm – telephone?"

" _Oui. Pas encore."_ The terribly make-upped woman's voice was low already, and she mumbled. This might be one of the most remarkable moments of Caroline's life, but to her it obviously seemed beyond mundane.

"Yes – so, telephone now?"

" _Non."_

"Aren't I allowed an interpreter – emmm, - interprete?"

" _Nous attendons."_

What did that mean? Attending – so, perhaps yes, one would be coming? That's what the officer had told her when he'd explained what was happening, when he'd walked her out of the catacombs into the lonely night, in handcuffs. They'd been cold, the metal cutting at her wrists. Secretly she'd been hoping Eleanor had somehow found her and would be waiting, when she emerged from the office dungeon, into the real world where this wasn't happening. Eleanor hadn't been. And she had to be worried. But they'd taken her mobile along with everything else. The boy who nudged her into the car had hastily explained, in English, thankfully, that she was being arrested for attempted theft, and possibly other charges. She'd forgotten most of what he'd said, though she'd been listening very intently.

The guard laid an unwelcome hand between her tensed shoulder blades and pushed her toward a heavy metal door. It buzzed and opened. Caroline received another rude shove.

" _Va à gauche."_

She turned to her right, and was yanked firmly back.

" _La gauche."_

"Ja swee desolay." She turned back toward her jailor. "This is a mistake – em – erreur."

The woman didn't respond.

Caroline was wrong. She could cry more. She started again, only watery-eyed, as she shuffled down the green-tiled narrow hallway. Big, hot tears made their way down her dry face when the tall woman heaved her into a large cell with one toilet and a dozen women of various shapes, sizes, ethnicities, and odors. Each eyed her with varying levels of disinterest and disdain. Despite her soul-deep fatigue, she dipped her chin, and eyed each and every one of them back with every ounce of headmistress she had left in her. It seemed to work, and in turn they each returned to doing whatever they'd been doing. All ignored her as she carefully picked her way around three women sleeping on the floor, to sit on a small portion of the long wooden bench running along the gray wall.

Next to her was a young girl. Her limbs were stick-like and her cheeks sunken. She had mottled dark skin, a white mohawk, and black make-up that was starting to run, completely ringing her eyes. She sleeping – or, perhaps, passed out - on another young woman's shoulder, who had a hefty arm around her. That seemed – nice.

A woman next to her, who only vaguely seemed to resemble their cell mates, missing bruises on her arms and possessing all her teeth, looked her over.

" _Une - arnaqueuse_?"

Caroline just shook her head. She had no idea who this person was nor what she'd said, and absolutely did not want to engage in small talk.

The woman shrugged, sniffed, and turned away.

Carline tilted her head back on the hard wall and closed her eyes. Her mind swirled with ever-darker thoughts. What was going to happen to her? Surely, surely this would be resolved. But in the meantime – how long would she be in this hell hole? And what if – what if – it weren't all laughed off by the morning?


	16. Chapter 16

"Now that we've spent half the first day of our vacation in customs, what would you like to do with the rest?" Caroline laid her purse on the coffee table and strolled through their rental in Paris. She traced her fingertip along the cherry wood dining table, the stainless kitchen counters. Satisfyingly clean. Eleanor had found it through a friend of a friend, and it was just right. She'd already read good things about the wine bar across the street.

"Damn Brexit. I miss my EU passport. I'm so glad I've retired. Can't imagine navigating the hordes in the commoner's queues on the regular. You should think about it - retiring." Eleanor threw herself down on the overstuffed couch and draped an arm over her eyes. "I will be starting the rest of our bliss with a shower. How you ever conned me into taking Jet2 has escaped me for the very last time. Once I shake off the nausea from that landing and that strange woman's patchouli, I want crepes. Plural. And then, or perhaps simultaneously, _chocolat chaud_."

"That's hot chocolate. Got that one."

"Because I've been talking about it for a month."

"You have. For the sake of starting our vacation on the right foot, I'll say it wasn't at all annoying."

"It was charming, as everything I do is charming."

"Quite." Content with the initial inspection, Caroline sank down next to her wife and began to think about how very wonderful this entire month was going to be. She closed her eyes, and was startled by the sound of a piano being tortured elsewhere in the building. So much for perfect first impressions. She tried to be annoyed about it, but Eleanor interrupted that, laughing -

"Someone must be taking lessons. Remember Flora's first year?"

"I do. Shame she's not here now to enjoy this."

"Let's have a shower and drown it out. One by one, I'm afraid, looking at the size of that bathroom. And then we're off to conquer the City of Lights."

* * *

Like languid cats they lay in the deliciously warm late afternoon sunshine pouring through the skylight above the bed. Another modern convention afforded the place Caroline most appreciated. Earlier she'd come from the shower only to find Eleanor still naked, waiting for her, Edith Piaf on the wireless speaker. Their escape to Paris was off to a pleasantly slow start.

"I've moved on from crepes. I need something more substantial." Eleanor rolled over onto Caroline, sighed, and began tracing random patterns on her bare shoulder.

"There's that open market next to the Pompidou."

" _Inspiré!_ Yes. You're brilliant. And then sunset over Sacré-Cœur on the balcony, after I stuff myself and visit my Giacometti. We'll have to discuss what it's like, both of us being terribly thin. Who's made you such a tourism expert?"

"I know next to nothing about leisure tourism. But I know my wife very well."

"You do." Eleanor beamed. She sat up and gazed out the window, a stillness over her.

"Have you gone somewhere?"

"Not far."

"Good." Caroline shaded her eyes from the sun, drenching their world in white gold. Next to her Eleanor sat, light on the bed, legs drawn, arms wrapping them and chin resting at her knees. Her lips were pale, her brown eyes paled too, by time and by what the cancer had stolen. The sheets lay mussed around her creamy hips. They pooled in gentle folds where the curve was just again becoming soft. A private viewing of her beloved alabaster Sappho. "Come back to me now."

"Of course." Eleanor slid down, laid her head on the pillow.

Caroline slipped over her. She came up on an arm, put her hand over the tiny scar from the hysterectomy. She made the smallest of faces, a hint at sorrow.

" _You_ come back to me now."

Caroline did, with a soft kiss, then another, and another. "Did you happen to bring the – "

Eleanor's lips tickled her ears. "Of course."

* * *

The rudest, loudest buzz filled her mind and Caroline woke with a start. She was sat up in the bunk, knees to her chest, forehead resting on them and neck stiff as concrete. The wall behind her was cold and her ass was numb.

Over invisible speakers, the buzzing was replaced by a mechanized voice. _"Déjeuner. Cinq minutes."_

Breakfast. She wondered what would be on offer. Not crepes, certainly. Eleanor had indeed gotten her crepes that night. Plural - one lemon chantilly, one nutella. They were consumed with gusto near midnight, the two women tucked into the least smoky corner of a patio at a café in Les Halles. They'd had grand plans for cocktails at the Hotel George, but had never made it out of the 4th.

All that seemed impossibly far away now. Not just far away, but actually impossible to Caroline that it had ever happened at all. At least she'd been promised a phone call this morning.

* * *

"Eleanor I'm in such a bad way, I could barely remember your mobile number. I could barely remember mine." A new day had come, and nothing had been laughed off. Of course there was no daylight for Caroline to judge the passage of time. The holding center she was in had neither doors nor windows directly to the outside. She had not seen the sun since the morning previous in the blossoming Tuilleries, and already she craved it bodily. The stark white lights and the uncolored walls along with the light green tiles everywhere, everywhere, on ever floor no matter where she went, all gave her world a washed-out pallor that had already taken on a sort of permanence in her psyche. She wasn't quite certain that something hadn't changed so permanently inside her that the world would ever hold the same intensity. That something hadn't taken hold in her, a dimness, that could ever be cured.

Eleanor sighed, paused, and her voice was thin. "I'm sorry. I – I guess I don't know what to say. I'm sorry sounds ridiculous. I'm worried, and scared, and I know it's twice as bad for you. This is unbelievable. This just doesn't happen."

Hearing Eleanor, even her worry, made Caroline smile. She had five minutes over the telephone to alleviate her anger and frustration. In-person visits were not allowed for the initial holding period. "Oh I don't know. You know it's not as bad as all that. At least no one has tried to talk to me in hours. You know how I hate strangers." For as bad off as she was, she imagined her wife had to be going absolutely crazy.

This little misadventure had fallen over a weekend – as of right now, she'd learned from a harried social worker, anything having to do with her case was on hold until Monday. Petty theft, even from a national cultural center, was low priority. "I'm doing alright. I really am. Please don't worry."

"That's an impossible task. I love you – you're going to be out of there as soon as – I don't know. But soon. I've called in every single favor I've ever owed to anyone who's ever even thought of knowing anyone named Strathclyde, related or not. In fact, an old friend of mine is actually here in Paris. She's an investigator, quite good. She worked with Emma's firm. Until she was fired for investigating Emma. At my request – during the divorce."

"Well she sounds - loyal - I suppose? Thank you." She twirled the grey plastic phone cord attached to the wall and ignored what the brown grime embedded into either end of the receiver she held implied about how often it wasn't cleaned.

"How was – your night?"

"Terrible. It really was. I mean, I'm going to be fine, but lord, Eleanor. Apparently, there was a bedbug infestation last week, and they've removed the mattresses from the bunks. I don't know if it's better laying down and not sleeping or sitting up and not sleeping. But at least I have my own cell. This is – it's just surreal." Last night she'd lain awake for hours counting the white flecks in the floor tiles and contemplating the rusty stains on the oatmeal-colored walls. The non-thought was mesmerizing in her current state, if not soothing. She'd tried to imagine being snugged in bed next to Eleanor, warm, soft, and comfortable. But it only made things worse. Imagining a better place, when her current was so bare, when she worried how long it might be before she were home again, was insufferable.

"I'm meeting with this investigator today, as soon as we hang up I'm headed out to meet her. Tell me what you remember about yesterday."

"There's nothing to remember – everything was fine until they grabbed me at the exit."

"You mentioned you'd spoken to a woman?"

"Yes – an elderly lady. She reminded me of Mum. A nicer version of her. We just _seemed_ to have so much in common, just got on so well. We just clicked."

"Do you remember anything particular about her? Perhaps she can vouch for you, in some way?"

Caroline racked her brain. Yesterday seemed a vague dream. She'd gone over it so many times in her head, she couldn't be sure about anything. "Her name was Ginny Graham. She's British, from –"

Behind her rose a violent clatter. She looked over her shoulder to see the woman in the next phone kiosk slamming the receiver violently, repeatedly, against the cement wall. Her dreadlocks flew side to side and she screamed, _"Connasse, connasse, connasse!"_

The stocky female guard who'd been looking down her nose at all of them charged over, ripped the phone from the woman's hand. _"Putain! Arrête ça! Je suis tellement marre de toi, Laila! Pas plus!"_ With this she cuffed the woman on the head, slid an arm under her shoulder and a hand onto the back of her neck, forcing her face into the wall.

"That's it Caroline. You're out of there now. I won't stop until you are."

She heard Eleanor. But she continued to stare at the scene next to her, couldn't take her eyes off it. She'd never seen anyone physically handled that way – not in person, at least. The absolute truth of it, that this kind of thing was in fact a daily reality here, was beginning to sink in. The guard occasionally pushed the yelling woman harder into the wall when she resisted at all.

Though part of her very much wanted to, she did not cry – or react in any way. Eleanor had taught her quite a bit about the value of vulnerability, but this was not the time or the place for it. Righteous, juggernaut wall of fury Caroline was called for here. The guard stared back at her – menacing, the implication clear – _"There's more where this came from."_

She shrugged and held open her hands, _"Do I look like I care?"_ and turned away. "And what if you can't get me out? Will you wait for me? I can't say I'll come out as well on the other end of it all." The joke, the delivery, were half-assed.

Eleanor's response was not. "Wait for you? Absolutely not. If you're not out tomorrow, I'll be at the catacombs first thing, grab the first object of any value that I see, beat that wanker Paul over the head with it, and wait for the police to throw me in with you. I'm in for better or worse, darling. I meant that."

A recorded voice came over the line before Caroline could respond. _"Il vous reste une minute."_

Une minute. Easy to understand. "Sounds like our time's about up." She pinched her nose and slumped on the metal stool that sprouted from the ground. These fleeting minutes with Eleanor, though brief, had raised her spirits. It would be another twenty-four hours alone in here, at least. She'd barely made it twelve already – and barely made it through. Her back ached, her joints ached, her eyes were raw from lack of sleep.

"This is officially the worst vacation ever. Worse than when John and I took the boys to see the Teletubbies on ice in Birmingham. Lawrence locked himself in the hotel room, William puked up his hot dog and cherry slushie from lunch in the car, and Noo Noo's head came off during the show. And John still tried to have a shag that night."

"Hmmmmm. Worse, even, than when we spent the night on the floor at the airport in Pisa? With that large man snoring and that child wailing all night? And that woman who kept 'accidentally' falling asleep on your shoulder?"

"I hate to say it, but yes. I love you Eleanor. I've never wanted to see your face more. Whatever you can do for me, please, do it."

"I will, darling. I love you too – please take care of yourself. Head down, chin up. Come back to me whole."

Caroline smiled. "I love – "

The connection cut off, replacing Eleanor's honeyed reassurances with a cold, flat dial tone.


	17. Chapter 17

For the sake of skipping the anxiety of being anywhere new to her, Eleanor had asked Holly, who'd promised to take care of everything, to meet her at the little café she and Caroline had come to call home. Fronting the Seine and just at the edge of the 1st _arrondissement_ , it was bustling near lunch time. The midday sun was out. The glint on the murky brown water was brittle, blinding.

She'd turned to Holly at very low points in her life. But the other woman had never responded with anything but a vague sort of acceptance and lack of reaction to the scandal of any of it. Career investigators must gain an appreciation for the capacity of humans to be inconsiderate much more quickly than the general public. Eleanor sat, strangers passing to and fro, arms crossed and staring vacantly onto the busy street, her old friend leaned toward her.

"I'm so sorry, Eleanor. The first thing I can do is phone a contact at the holding center. She's not on intake, but she'll know who is. I believe you about this being total shit. And I'll tell you another thing – this isn't the first time I've heard about something like this happening. Last fall an American university girl was detained and her family paid an exorbitant amount of money to get it cleared up. She looked very good for it, except for the fact that he had no history or hijinks or anything about her to suggest she got her kicks as a clepto."

Holly crossed her own arms and fidgeted with the hem of her short sleeve. Clearly she'd not stopped struggling with kicking the nicotine habit. Her short dishwater blonde hair hadn't changed either. Fine and trimmed neatly off her face and her neck.

The thought of anyone setting them up, that they were surrounded by people who waited only to take advantage, took some of the sparkle off the city. Any bohemian charm Paris retained felt cheap now, and grubby. What had seemed quaint, now dilapidated.

"What would anyone gain from this?" A stupid sort of question, but Eleanor wasn't taxing her mental capacity at the moment. She saw only, thought only, of Caroline in a colorless room. Losing her own color as lawless, violent women raged around her. Never had she pictured her wife as the calm at the center of the storm.

The other woman laid a tanned hand over Eleanor's on the small café table. "I doubt the French government is that hard up – but there could be kickbacks somewhere along the way. I hate to ask – but do you have cash available – if the quickest solution is to buy our way out?"

"Mmmmmm. Yes. Of course." It was the first thing Eleanor had done this morning. Create more – flexibility. After, of course, calling Flora to tell her what had transpired and subsequently talking her off the ceiling. Their daughter was stuck in America with her grandmother but working on finding a way there as soon as possible.

"The fine for something like this can be steep. And expediting things on top of that – "

"Do what you need to do." Eleanor's thousand-yard stare over the busy river and to the Eiffel Tower, the horizon beyond, telescoped back to her companion. "As quickly as you can. If Caroline is home tonight it's not soon enough, and it's worth whatever it costs."

"I don't want to raise your hopes. This could take a while. With a non-citizen, the judiciare might not be willing to let her out on remand. It could be weeks."

"Absolutely not. I'll break her out and we'll flee before I'll let that happen. Or we'll keep trying until we find someone available for purchase."

"That's not something you should say out loud." Holly smirked and Eleanor recognized when someone very intentionally did not roll her eyes. Then, soberly, "I still think it likely she was targeted, you know." Her friend drummed her fingertips on the table, met Eleanor's angry gaze. "They might have picked her out knowing you'd be willing to be generous."

"Someone thought I'd be an easy mark?" If it weren't Caroline on the other end of it, Eleanor would have suddenly found herself feeling quite intractable and much more thrifty. "How would they have known?"

Holly ran her gaze down Eleanor's trim form and back up. "Your shoes aren't knock-offs, and they're this season. Your dress is either Burberry or something you picked up here, though it's not technically couture. Scarf, definitely silk and not the cheap kind. Bag's authentic too. Hair on point and the color has some highlight and vibrancy to it. None of that a big shock for Paris. But the diamonds you're sporting, collectively hit maybe two carats. And you have that thing – that rich lady thin, that something, still, Eleanor. The way you move through the world. As though it were made for you and the rest of us are just hustling to come in second."

"I think you mean that cancer thin thing, I'm afraid." Eleanor almost sneered. Holly could have been describing Margaret. She made a note about her sartorial choices the rest of the visit. And the rest of her life. She felt guilty, shamed even, for thinking well of herself or assigning charm to the world where there was only guile.

A bronzed man in very tight, red capris and an even tighter, pink polo stopped at their table. He removed his gold-rimmed Persols and his eyes darted between the women.

 _"Qu'en dites-vous, mesdames?"_

 _"Pas avec toi, sale grenouille."_

Eleanor laughed at Holly's rebuke. Would not have if it had been any kind of decent human being on the receiving end. But she felt small today, and it felt nice to watch someone else brought low.

 _"Vache."_ The man sauntered away.

"I don't miss the men on the continent, that's certain. Another reason I'd like to be home. Immediately."

"I'm sorry this is happening to you." Holly seemed, for the first time, to engage emotionally with the situation. Her light brown eyes pulled at the outside edges. The lines there were just beginning to solidify, to settle in and decide about where they'd etch themselves permanently. "As I was sorry for what happened with Emma. It seems your romances tend to be a little rocky."

"I don't know that I'd put it quite that way. Particularly when it comes to Caroline. And she certainly didn't invite this."

"No. But hopefully she's got a little edge to her." Holly cast her gaze over the river, toward the neighborhood where Caroline sat locked in a cage. "I'll do the best I can. But in the meantime, why don't you let me take your mind off things. Don't sit and stew in it. It's the worst thing possible."

"I can't think of anything but sitting here. Drinking wine, loads of it, if I didn't feel I need to be alert and ready at a moment's notice. For whatever – " Eleanor tapered off, stuck again at her anxiety over not knowing, not seeing with her own eyes that her wife was still sound. "Is there some way this woman you know inside might get me in to visit, at least?"

"I doubt it. But I can ask. Whatever you want, I'll try to get it for you." Same Holly as ever. Shockingly philanthropic for someone dedicated to rooting out liars and cheats. Perhaps it was a balancing act.

"All I want is Caroline."

"Well how about some lunch in the meantime. Have you eaten?"

"I'm not hungry."

"I'll bet you are, and you just don't know it. How about I try a few restaurants out on you and see if anything sticks."

Eleanor would have laughed under different circumstance. But she did muster a grin. "A Parisian culinary twenty-one questions. I suppose it's better than sitting here imagining the worst."

"No better city in the world for it. Maybe Bangkok." Holly let out a wistful little sigh.

"How long has it been since the divorce?" Eleanor uncrossed her arms and leaned toward the younger woman.

"I can't believe it, but twelve years. I'd still have Prija back, if she'd have me. Haven't been able to move on like you have. Suppose my luck ran out."

"It's almost harder when you're the one in the wrong. I think we go through life thinking certain things about ourselves. It's quite a trick then, to live with the person we never thought we were."

Holly's burgundy nails returned to fidget at her white linen shirt sleeve, tight at the bicep. "I never thanked you. For turning me down all those years ago."

All those years ago. It felt like a million years ago now. A lovesick Eleanor on the ropes. Holly offering to fix more than one of Emma's wrongs. So recently on the receiving end, Eleanor had no intention of making a fool of another woman, even if she'd wanted the comfort badly. She liked Holly very well, appreciated the clever art she brought to fixing sticky binds. But she'd rarely seen an opportunity she didn't take.

At another time in her life Eleanor would have appreciated the roguish daring of the woman across from her. Perhaps she did still, even now. You never knew, did you, what life had waiting around the bend. How much rope you'd left, how many chances at adventure. She'd always felt Holly didn't quite deserve the karma that'd been meted out.

"No thanks or apologies necessary. Water under the bridge and lessons learned."

"I suppose. But thanks for being so thoroughly decent." The other woman stood, slid in her chair. "Let me go make that call. When I get back we'll see if I can tempt your palate."

* * *

Caroline's new friend at the jail, Ruby, paused. She made an act of her disbelief, rolling her tattooed neck around in circles. "You really didn't get nicked hustling? Sweet talking folks taking their ease out of this and that? Still don't believe you." The girl could only have come straight from a dodgier neighborhood on the outskirts of London, for her accent.

"Nope. And you're the _third_ person to ask me."

"Because you're too pretty for anything else, aren't you. Cocaine? I mean, selling, of course."

"Wrong again. You only have a few tries left." Caroline picked up the sandwich in front of her, then returned it to the tray. The mottled brown meat contained inside resembled, but was most certainly not, pate. She was starving and couldn't stand to eat anything that had come her way so far.

"Or –" The petite girl twirled her white hair, then banged her fork on the metal lunch tray. "Oh sure I got it. You were selling girls."

"Absolutely not." Caroline looked around at the assortment of women surrounding them at the long table. She was appalled, and perhaps worried, that anyone might think she was involved in the sex trade. In any way.

"Nah don't worry about them. Lannie over there's waiting trial on moving drugs and girls. And horses."

"Booking? Fixing?" Caroline desperately, desperately, hoped the answer to either of those questions was yes.

"Nah."

"I see."

"I give up. Why are you slumming it in here?" Ruby spread her hands. She seemed the type who bored quickly of waiting.

"I allegedly stole an artifact from the catacombs. But I didn't. Though that doesn't seem to matter."

"Course you didn't. And it doesn't matter, you're right about that. What - were you a little too tipsy on the champagne from lunch and catch a hair?"

"Yes. Yes that's exactly right." Caroline smiled at her. She seemed to be a nice young girl. Though the track marks all up and down her arm and her ragged knuckles suggested this might be true only when she was sober. Caroline had moved quite far from trusting her first impressions of people.

Ruby nodded. "I thought so – " she paused, nodded a little more enthusiastically. "Awe you're just being a bitch now. I got it. Okay. You're okay, aren't you?"

"I certainly hope so. Glad at least you think so," Caroline replied. Ruby had been the only person to try and speak with her, and despite several misgivings, she had taken her up on the offer. Loneliness had taken up residency in every part of her mind and her heart. The smell of people, humanity, here, was terrible; the food, the bunks, the toilets. But the worst of it was that it was all terrible alone. No one would do anything as remotely empathetic as even make eye contact. She'd begun to question her own existence. Certainly her relevance as a human, after less than a day here.

"Yeah you're alright. Now you do me." Ruby jittered her fingers excitedly.

Caroline sniffed. She poked again at her sandwich. With the shoe on the other foot this was not a game she felt she could win – by guessing correctly or incorrectly. The jailhouse equivalent of your mother-in-law asking you to guess how much she weighed. She struggled just to find a tactful way to decline playing along.

"Look at me. How would I even begin."

"Oh you're not exactly like you look. Otherwise you wouldn't be in here. Take a stab," Ruby insisted.

"So to speak."

"What?"

"Yes. Let me think." God – Caroline prayed anything would intervene. The racket around them went on, unbroken. Even in French it sounded dissonant and rough, a menacing unknowable rumble.

"It's nothing to do with this." The girl pointed to the ladder of tracks on her arm.

Damn. Caroline had just been getting around to finding a neutral way to imply that it might have. Her eyes flicked back to the new scabs on Ruby's knuckles.

"Getting warmer," the girl hinted.

"Ah. Let me guess. You found out what Lannie was up told her it was repulsive with your fists?"

Ruby moved her head up and down, slow. "Nah. But you're pretty good at bullshitting aren't you. Still think you're lying about the con. Neat story you could've made up about the catacombs. Believable because it isn't." She leaned back and appreciated her own insight. Behind her a row of women were lined up against a long colorless cinderblock wall, being aggressively frisked.

"What can I say?"

"Yeah there you go again. Being shifty. Not committing, you know, one way or the other." Ruby leaned across the table. "I'm in for putting my boy in hospital. He was gone on heroin and thought I was Jesus. But like evil Jesus. So he thought I needed to be sent back to hell. I had to beat him off. No choice in it. But I might have gotten carried away. On account of he'd come home high after being out shooting up with my sister and then having a shag with her."

"Well that's reasonable, you taking action. Asshole."

Lannie, the big woman a ways down from them, hauled herself off the bench. She sauntered over to Caroline, her depth and breadth shifting side to side as she did, and stood behind her.

 _"Pourquoi tu parlais de moi?"_

Caroline leaned forward. The woman stepped up and pressed her stomach against her back. It wasn't as soft as it appeared.

"Ruby do you know what she said?"

"Me? Don't speak any French except vin and croissant."

"Well we have that in common." Caroline strained her neck around to look up at Lannie towering over her.

"Ja swee desolay. Jey ney parlay pas fransay." A phrase Caroline had mastered. "Ja swee desolay."

The woman looked at Ruby, who only shrugged. She took another step forward, and now Caroline was painfully wedged between her and the table, bent at an awkward angle, her arms pinned at her sides. _Shit._


	18. Chapter 18

The slender woman sitting next to Ruby spoke up. She had been intent on her lunch this entire time, head down, long, lank brown hair covering her face and seemingly oblivious.

 _"Elles admirent votre travail."_

 _"Pourquoi? Que savent-ils de moi?"_ The wall of a woman behind Caroline pushed her girth forward a little more. She was tall and felt dense. She certainly outweighed her.

Should Caroline push back or keep quiet? It would certainly help if she could understand what was being said. Eleanor had always told her to pay more attention to people's body language. Not hard to interpret Lannie, her assailant's though, was it? She'd never thought this hard about social survival since her teens. The stakes had seemed very high then, but of course meant little compared to her immediate struggles to adapt to this even more foreign culture. It was difficult to play a game well when you didn't even know the rules.

She looked over to young Ruby once again - who met her questioning gaze then subtly shook her head.

The previously anonymous woman with the brown hair spoke again. Caroline took her in properly. She had a long, drawn horse face to match her long flat hair. Thin eyes, thin nose, thin, white, cracked-lipped mouth.

 _"Lannie - ne faisons pas de problèmes."_

 _"Ces deux-là ont déjà."_

Caroline followed the exchange, watching a foreign film without the subtitles. A foreign horror flick, where little dialog was needed to create a sick sense of anticipation at what lay past the door at the end of the hall. She looked around for anyone who might be paying attention. There was a guard, but she seemed completely unmoved by the scene.

 _"C'est absurde. Regarde-les. J'ai rarement vu quelque chose de plus triste."_

 _"Je suppose."_

Surprisingly, the woman eased off the pressure.

Caroline sat up, rubbed her arms that were tender from being pressed into the table. Her chest was as well. Her fingers were cold, and they shook. She looked up and offered a wan smile. "Merci."

Lannie raised and cocked a beefy hand. Caroline stared at it, dumbstruck. She had never in her life been hit. _None of this can possibly be happening to me._ The surreal nature of everything that had transpired in the last twenty-four hours threatened to completely short circuit her brain, even before this other woman could scramble it for her.

The angular woman opposite them shook her head. Lannie shrugged and flowed away.

Caroline had rarely relied on the kindness of strangers. Never on French ones. She glanced over to the woman who'd intervened. She had to clear her throat to get any words out. "Merci."

"You're welcome. You're nice looking. Hate to see that change."

"Thank you. I'm Caroline." Shaking hands didn't seem like the right move –

"Good for you." Her strange, taciturn benefactor stood, picked up her tray, and walked off.

"Look at you making friends!" Ruby slapped the table enthusiastically. "You'll do alright here."

"Will I?" Caroline did not agree. At all. At least she wasn't hungry any longer. What she had choked down was threatening to come up.

"Yeah. You're fine, girl. Come on, they're about to let us outside." Ruby took up both their trays and walked toward the front of the large, buzzing cafeteria. She moved with an odd stride, one leg barely but visibly shorter than the other.

"Oh hooray." Caroline stood, slowly, and followed her. She did not bother to look around – nor did she notice their silent, queer lunch companion tracking their movements.

* * *

 _"We have not been walking for-ever. But if you'd like to stop for an espresso and a pastry, again, be my guest."_ Caroline glanced back at Eleanor, huffing up the Rue de Magenta toward the Montmartre. Behind her, an emerald green row of magnificently trimmed horse chestnut clattered in the breeze.

After a solid week of nothing but couture and museums post-arrival, her wife had begun to make a fuss about getting out of their beguiling three- _arrondissement_ vortex. Why was she complaining about it now?

"I am perfectly content to gaze upon Sacre-Coeur from the flat land as the sun sets, if the cost of this new view is sweating like a sailor and endlessly chugging up this hill. Why could we have not at least taken the metro," Eleanor pleaded.

"Because you said you wanted to see more of the city." Caroline crossed her arms and waited for her wife. She played at impatience, and it did niggle at her a little, but she couldn't help the smallest of grins as she watched Eleanor make a show of her exhaustion – back of her hand to her forehead, back bent forward into the slope and stride dramatically long. "Shall I see if we can find you a fainting couch?"

"An espresso and croissant will be sufficient to revive me," Eleanor murmured as she draped herself over Caroline's shoulder.

Half an hour and halfway into their walk toward the home of bohemia rouge overlooking the city, they had finally broken away from the enchantment of ancient Paris. Grand, wide boulevards and switch-back impassable alleys, dress shops, tailors and confectionaries had given way to black city streets striped in white, dry cleaners, shoe emporiums and pharmacies as they'd made their way up out of the old and into the real world where people actually lived and worked. Commuters jostled around the two women catching their breath. A white-haired young woman bumped Caroline, apologized, and shuffled on. Diners on the patio were bent to phones and newspapers, a certain amount of Frenchness cast aside and little attention to pay to the theater of the mundane surrounding them.

Caroline melted as Eleanor sagged against her. Her bristled façade had become just that over these many years. While brusque was a decades-ingrained habit, it was one that no longer met a need. "Come on, then. Let's get you some chocolate too."

"I was afraid to even ask."

"No you were not – were you? Am I being a tyrant? If you're really flagging we can request a ride – " Caroline reached for her phone, now worried she'd run rough over Eleanor's exaggerations and mistaken them –

"Stop that. Right now. Bring back Nurse Caroline Ratched. I prefer her."

"Ah. So the play's not the thing without a witness to win over?"

"You may not use our long acquaintance to demystify my charms." Eleanor recovered herself, squinted her eyes merrily and pointed at Caroline.

Caroline did the same right back. "Perhaps you'll consider evolving them."

Eleanor's face transmuted, now a mask of mock horror. "You've grown weary of me? So soon?"

"Nope. Never." Love asked for and answered.

"That's right." Eleanor rewarded Caroline with a kiss – who found the salty flavor delicious, and took another, then another, until they both began to laugh.

"Love, leisure and romance on the streets of Paris. I'm choking on us." Caroline wrapped Eleanor in her arms, held her right against her. That last wasn't even a little true, but she would play her part to the end. "And look – we even have spring showers to give an excuse for your laziness."

The fresh sunlit afternoon had barely faded. Great white tufts glided through a cornflower sky, but indeed there were sprinkles darkening the streets and bringing up the smell of wet and the closeness of the air.

"Mmmm. Yes. But first, we're absolutely compelled to complete the scene." Eleanor took her hand and dragged her from under the scarlet awning of a café. She grabbed Caroline's azure silk scarf and held her fast and near.

Caroline smiled, wide, as from only inches away she watched little drops of rain dapple her wife's rusty curls, collect on her thinned eyebrows and lashes. Just a blink and they broke free, spilling and running to her perked lips. She delighted in finishing the cliché with another kiss. She even managed a small dip of the lightened woman she held tightly, thrown in with a flair that was not native, but well-learned.

Eleanor had said thank you to the out-of-character abandon with a leg in the air and glorious, unclouded laughter.

* * *

 _"Oh I've never, never wanted so badly to see Eleanor."_ Caroline turned her eyes from the infinite sky and made a closer study of Ruby, a few meters away and chatting with two other women. The white-haired girl, surely, who had so casually collided with them only a week ago.

She was being set-up well and good. She no longer felt the victim of a heartless prank orchestrated by a mean old lady. There was deeper play at work here – though she had no idea of any possible motive.

Caroline paced the small yard, keeping her distance and keeping her eye on her new friend. She was intensely aware of being enclosed on all sides, bland concrete rising to create a rectangular frame for the gloomy clouds above. It didn't exactly foster higher-level thinking and puzzle solving. Again, she wished for Eleanor. The little creative spark that set her mind racing for all the possibilities in life. Eleanor, with her easy way in the world, privilege and freedom hand in hand. No problem that couldn't be solved with determination and charm – and the right - resources.

Abruptly, Caroline stopped. She leaned against the rough façade of the block wall, angles jutting into her back, the painful sensation keeping her feet to the ground as horror threatened to carry her clean away.

Eleanor. Here in this squalid French hell Caroline waited, helpless and caged, her clueless wife alone in the world, surely focused on only one thing. The entire family fixed on Caroline, actually. Flora as well. Flora, no longer with Ginnika but somewhere in between. Each of them isolated. Each dumbly staring, surely, in the wrong direction.

Fear, anger, animated her. Caroline charged across the hardpack of the jail yard straight for Ruby. The gravel bruised her soles through her thin pair of state-issued shoes. Leaning into her practiced temper and before thinking, she took the girl by the shoulders, fingertips digging into her bony arms.

Wildly she thrust her face toward her, launching an inquisition. She tightened her grip, distracted momentarily by the mural of tattoos on her slender neck. A fat buddha shaded in red and green peeked around a seven-blossomed columbine, and within a blue star of David in scripted font, "Jesus." Below that, arcing around it, still in black scrolling script, "chaff before the wind." The girl seemed set on covering all the bases.

Her mythological preferences meant nothing to Caroline, who wasted no further time getting to her point. "Who are you. Why am I here."

* * *

Holly shrugged and plunked down into the small wooden café chair opposite Eleanor. "I'm so sorry. I railed at my contact at the detention center, to no avail. She's saying they booked a very large number of inmates over the last two days. They have a record of Caroline, but the overcrowding and the administrative burden has them completely backlogged. She's not even assigned for arraignment yet – meaning she's still not eligible for visitation."

"No. That's not acceptable." Eleanor crossed her legs, her arms. She turned away from the other woman, staring off toward Caroline's temporary confinement. It was all she could think about, and all she could do not to just set up camp in the soulless lobby of the jail and wait. She had to be somehow nearer her wife. Helplessness was not a feeling that set well with her.

"I'm afraid so." Holly brushed a hand through her delicate blonde pixie. "There's not a lot more I can do, but I'll keep on it." She leaned forward, offered a hand across the table. "This is going to take some time to resolve. And I can already see you're not handling it well. Where's your apartment – I think we should get you home."

"We're in the Marais." Home, the possibility of a nap, sounded splendid - though Eleanor couldn't imagine being able to fall asleep. Then again, how long had it been since she had slept? She'd awoken last night to find Caroline missing and spent every second since hunting for a way to free her. Eleanor rubbed her eyes. They were filled with sand, dry and probably red. They began to water, and before she could do anything about it, one of her contacts abandoned her. The world slid out of focus. Damnit.

She wasn't about to start scrabbling on her hands and knees searching for it on the grubby Paris street. A blurry version of Holly asked what was wrong as Eleanor snatched up her purse to hunt for her glasses. She hated wearing them, and of course, contrary to Caroline's urging, had left them at the apartment.

"It seems that on top of it all, I've gone half-blind." Eleanor blinked rapidly and removed the other contact. The lop-sidedness was making it all worse, and in her fatigue and despair, a little nauseous. She could see relatively well for about five meters, and barely at all after that.

Holly stood. She came over to Eleanor, took her at the elbow and stood her up, as though Eleanor was completely helpless. Which, to be honest, she felt might be a little true – at the moment.

"Don't worry, Eleanor." Holly laid a gentle hand on her arm. "Let's get you home. And don't even think I'm going to let you out of my sight anytime soon."


	19. Chapter 19

"So, truly – you think there's nothing more to be done?" Eleanor doubted this, but at the moment couldn't think of a way around the possibilities Holly had laid out. Couldn't think of a way around anything at all, really. Her fatigue was crippling her, stopping her from thinking right and getting Caroline out of this mess.

"I know it's not in your nature to wait. But it's habit to an investigator. Time is usually on my side." Holly helped herself to a seat on the sofa.

It had been a quick cab ride back to the Marais. The flat seemed all wrong without Caroline here. Smaller. Spartan, not neat. Run-down and not rustic. Eleanor snatched a half-empty bottle of white Bordeaux from the small refrigerator in the efficient kitchen at the flat. She held it up to her guest.

"Yes, please. Your anxiety is catching." Holly leaned forward, elbows on her knees. "And I understand. I haven't met Caroline, but if she's your one and only for the last – " she paused -

"Ten – no – eleven – years," Eleanor filled in. "And all the rest of them to come." She generously finished the bottle between two glasses.

"She's got to be really something. If I can offer just a thought, to try and help. I know it's impossible for you to hear this right now. But people are arrested every day. Jail is an everyday thing. It's hard, it's nasty, it's unpleasant – but it's not as bad as it could be."

Eleanor folded herself into the couch next to the petite woman. She sat with the soles of her bare feet pressed together and her wine glass resting between her legs, staring into the pale golden abyss. "I know that. And I know that she's probably fine. Probably ordering people around already - " She began to chuckle. She imagined headmistress Caroline lecturing her fellow inmates. Hers was an unrealistic vision, but she pictured her in a black skirt-suit, in all her official glory at the head of some industrial room lecturing women lined up on benches welded to the tables where they sat. She saw her wife stalking up and down a central aisle, silver wire-rim glasses slid to the edge of her nose – Eleanor began a full-throated laugh now, laughed until tears came to her eyes, then came pouring out of them. She had to set her wine on the coffee table, she'd begun to convulse so hard.

Then, she abandoned laughter and simply cried. God, she was tired.

Holly set her own wine down and turned to her. She fidgeted for a moment, then opened her arms.

Eleanor accepted the comfort. It had been decades since she'd rested here, but she'd leaned on Holly more than once all those years ago. The feel of it was so foreign to her, after all the time she'd spent in Caroline's generous embrace, soft and warm. Holly was half her size, her arms and her chest lean and firm. But the relief offered was large-hearted and more than welcome.

* * *

"Tell me what I'm doing here. Tell me what you have to do with it." Caroline shook the small woman she held.

Other inmates had backed away, but not far. Still more had gravitated immediately to the commotion. She and Ruby stood at the center of a small circle of women jostling to get closer.

"Girl you fucken lost it! Get on back, and now." Ruby tried to push off her chest.

Caroline didn't budge, just twisted the grasp she had on the other woman's light blue jumper and held tighter. It wasn't her body at stake here in this place. It was her world – it was Eleanor, or Flora, or both. Her entire universe, the center and each and every component part was out of her reach, and as far as she knew, at risk of being lost. She did not give an inch as Ruby struggled.

She didn't give any ground at all, even, as a large, heavy hand grabbed her bicep. The harder this unknown hand squeezed, the more Caroline intensified her grip and her gaze on the young woman in front of her.

 _"Arrête. À present. Arrête."_ The hand on her arm let go as a stocky woman wearing a black uniform forced her way through the crowd and between Caroline and Ruby. Her effectiveness in parting the sea of spectators likely had a lot to do with the baton she waved.

She shoved the butt of it into Caroline's stomach, who clutched her gut with both hands and quickly backed away. She coughed and doubled over and signaled her surrender to anyone who cared. That had hurt. A lot. Not as much as those kidney stones, but the shock of it intensified the effect.

Caroline continued to back away from the guard, who seemed satisfied with the results of her intervention. Ruby wasn't instigating anything further. The guard was speaking to her, and the girl held up her hands and shook her head.

The stocky French woman keeping the peace turned back to Caroline. She pointed the baton, menace clear. Caroline held out her own palms, took another step away from the threat.

 _"Arrêtez ça, mesdames. Dispersez-vous."_ The guard turned slowly in a circle, waving a hand at the women, who began to drift away.

"You're feistier than you look, aren't you, Caroline?"

Hands still pressed to her outraged stomach, Caroline turned at the familiar voice and a hard-to-pin accent. The lilt and tempo gave her the impression of a native French speaker who'd learned English in – America? In any case, the lanky brown-haired woman was the one speaking. Lannie stood at her side. She reached out a beefy hand and took Caroline's arm in what felt like a vice – the fingers dug in again where they'd held her before – the mark they'd leave would be colorful. Amazing how much it hurt after the adrenaline of her aborted confrontation with Ruby had worn off.

The guard approached them again, and Lannie released her paw.

"Come on let's take a walk," demanded the stranger.

"Sod off." She sneered at the woman, then at Lannie. "I'm not doing anything. _You_ can tell me _your_ name though, and your part in all this, please. Why did your pet gorilla grab me when I grabbed Ruby?" Caroline assumed Lannie was not multi-lingual. Her lack of reaction seemed to prove the theory out.

Ruby was leaned sullenly against a far wall, rubbing at her neck and glaring at the trio of massive Lannie, a somewhat smaller Caroline, and the tall, slender woman whose identity was still in question.

"Fine." The other woman shrugged. "You can feel like you have power if that's nice for you. I'm Marie. And you're here because we want you to be here. And you'll get to go - after you and your girlfriend do a couple of simple things."

"Eleanor," Caroline mumbled.

"Yes," Marie answered.

Caroline's light head filled with a little buzz. Not the sound of it, but the feel of it. And it dimmed everything save this Marie who knew far too much about – everything important to Caroline right now. Her rising panic made her angry, but she managed to keep that in check. These people had to be working with someone outside the jail. Ginny Graham? Or yet another person Caroline hadn't even clocked yet? If they knew about Eleanor, if they'd somehow set both of them up?

"I don't understand," was all she could manage to respond. _And she's my wife,_ Caroline finished in her head. _She's my wife, and I think I love her even more than I knew. I'd stay in this Godforsaken place forever if Eleanor would stay safe from – whatever's going on._

"No of course you don't understand, because I haven't explained everything yet," Marie offered. From nowhere overhead and everywhere, a mechanized bell sounded, then the woman continued. "So we'll walk together, because it's time to go inside now, and I'll tell you what you need to know."

Caroline stared at Marie, looked up at Lannie. She had a rather unattractive nose, she noticed. Bulbous, the fat end of if it larger than her black, dull eyes. She shot a look over to the guard, whom Caroline strongly disliked. There'd been no cause to hit her – not really. The woman was just a bully. She was shooing inmates toward the door.

Caroline clamped a hand onto Marie's wrist. The bones dug into her palms, and she didn't care. "Tell me Eleanor is safe. As of right now. Tell me."

"Oh don't be so dramatic. She's fine. And you're fine." Marie twisted her hand and shook Caroline off. "Lannie is here with me because jails can be dangerous places. But I can tell you I'm not some thug. You don't do what we want, that's okay. You just stay in here." Marie waved at the drab edifice circling them. "That should be as bad as it gets. There's nothing to be gained beating people up if it's not necessary. This is about money. And your girlfriend has enough to share."

Caroline could not tell if she felt better. Perhaps yes – at least she could choose to believe the placation. Eleanor _had_ seemed perfectly fine when they'd talked. At least there had been absolutely no mention of Flora, so far. And dear god, if nothing else, Caroline could imagine that she might soon be able to leave this terrible confinement. The physical reality of it was less crushing than the mental, the complete lack of autonomy crazy-making and yet somehow already becoming routine.

Marie walked away. Caroline followed, and Lannie brought up the rear. It began to rain just as they passed inside.

They were herded into a hallway, seemingly back to their cells. Instructions in French were being shouted at them, and the gibberish irritated Caroline. More than that, the close, concrete hall was clanging with the chatter of the other women, and she was running out of time to get more information.

"Marie - what is it you want from us," Caroline demanded as they approached the turn toward the cell block.

"Your girlfriend will get specific instructions. You'll get to talk to her, you'll confirm them, she does what she's supposed to, and that's that." Marie and Lannie both turned left, while Caroline knew her stark new home lay right.

Caroline yelled at them as a guard tried to push her in the opposite direction. "My wife. She's my wife."

Lannie stopped, turned back. "Yes, she is. I'm sorry. I forgot that you people take those details so seriously," she said, then walked away.

 _I'm too old for this,_ thought Caroline. _And Eleanor isn't well enough yet. I've got to find a way to get help._

* * *

"What's this?" Eleanor picked up a thick-ish envelope lying on the kitchen counter. The paper was cream color, just lighter than the hardwood.

"Good question," Holly responded. "I found it just near the door about an hour ago. I'd just poured a cup of tea when I noticed it. Tried the hallway of course, but nothing."

Eleanor ran a rough hand at her face, finger-combed limp hair from her eyes. "How long did I sleep?" It was dark outside. Annoying revelers were at it at the wine bar three flights down. It could be any time of night. How long had it been? She dashed over to the little dining nook where she'd left her phone. How stupid of her, that she hadn't taken it into the bedroom. She grabbed it up, and the home screen flashed. A screen saver of her and Caroline under the Linden trees in the _Place des Vosges_. Their first stop and their first _chocolat chaud._ Leisurely sipped as they reclined on a bench under a clover-colored canopy, watching the world go by.

Nothing but the selfie appeared on the screen. She tossed down the phone and realized the mysterious envelope was still in her other hand.

"Would you like some?" Holly asked from the kitchen.

"Hmmm?"

"Tea," Holly clarified. "Would you like some tea? And it's only been a couple hours. Was hoping you might have done a little better."

"I don't sleep well. Anymore."

"Since the cancer?"

"Yes," Eleanor murmured. "Is it that obvious?"

"Oh – " The other woman apparently made the decision for her, and took another mug from the cupboard. Presently the smell of mint filled the air. "No. That's not what I meant. You look – fine. You look good. I'd just heard from Shara, she's still at Emma's firm, that you'd been sick, and my aunt had breast cancer, and I remember her saying –"

Holly prattled on as she set the tea on the table and sat next to her. But Eleanor had tuned her out. The envelope had captured the rest of her attention. Her name was typed on the front, and it was sealed. Just her name, her full name. That was as odd as its appearance under the door of a rented flat.

She lay the envelope back on the table and pondered it. Pondered everything that had transpired in the last day. Even a few hours of sleep, and even in her stupor, Eleanor felt more clarity about things. She sipped the tea, and the bright flavor perked her further.

"Holly when did you say this got here?" It had only been a couple hours, that she'd been sleeping. Perhaps four, then, since they'd returned. She'd invited Holly to stay, rather than commuting across Paris at the end of the work day. The traffic had lightened considerably after all the various bans on various cars but had come roaring back once the auto-makers all adapted, and growth hadn't abated in the meantime. The metro was more stifling than ever. And to be honest, Eleanor couldn't stand the thought of being cooped up alone.

"Maybe an hour ago? Great investigator, aren't I?"

"You do well enough when it counts." Someone had been keeping close tabs. Eleanor tapped her index finger on the glass table, her nail calling out a little staccato rhythm. Morse code for _what in the world is going on here._

Both the women stared at the envelope, foreign and uninvited guest.

"Shall I open it?" Eleanor looked over into Holly's inquiring cinnamon eyes.

"I'm not police, so I say yes. Let's see what we're dealing with."

"So you think it's all connected too?"

"Has to be." Holly tilted her angled chin upward. "I'm finally a big girl now. I no longer believe in coincidence."

Eleanor couldn't help but smile at her friend, who'd always worn her cynicism uncomfortably. Never embraced it the way Eleanor had seen Emma's other colleagues do with anticipation, a philosophical underpinning for the legal wrath they dished out. "Don't be bashful. You were never that naïve."

"No. I suppose not. But I still think some people are genuinely good."

"So do I. But I think perhaps I'm about to lose that sentiment permanently." Eleanor gestured to the little paper packet. "Let's get on with it."

"One sec." Holly fetched a pair of scissors from the knife block in the kitchen. She handed them to Eleanor, and pinned two corners of the envelope to the table with her fingertips. "Already put my hands all over it, but just in case. Now – cut it open."

Eleanor slid the shears along the short edge. Holly nodded at her. She picked the envelope up at the seams and gently shook out the papers inside. Three pages, average stock. Also type-written, and one a printed-out map. She took the pages at their very edges and opened them, used her elbow to flatten them out.

Holly leaned in close. For a minute, both women read silently. Eleanor did not even finish the first page before she turned to Holly, who met her glance, shook her head, and drew her lips tight.

Eleanor collapsed back into the dining chair. "Jesus Christ. Who the hell are these people?"


	20. Chapter 20

"Girl you full-on popped your wheelie." Ruby slapped her dinner tray down opposite Caroline and sat. "And I get it. You're under some pressure. But I'm gonna need you to take it easy on the clutch. Because I like you."

"Really." Caroline tossed her plastic spork into whatever red mush she was supposed to be eating.

"Hand to God." Ruby held up her open hand, clenched it in a fist, kissed her knuckle and threw it back upstairs in praise.

"Well. I'll give you persistence. But I have absolutely no idea who you are, other than a trashy, violent drug user. And the only reason I can suss for your loyalty to me is that you're somehow connected to Marie, Lannie, and whoever else is orchestrating this whole charade. So you can take your friendship and your odd expressions and shove it."

Ruby shook her head. "Hurts to see someone so cynical. It hurts." She touched the fat Buddha on her neck. "What you think, you become. What you feel, you attract. What you imagine, you create. So, like, chill with the hate, you know."

Caroline laughed. She couldn't help it. She absolutely couldn't. She laughed until she cried.

"See now, that's better, isn't it? I got you." Ruby rapped her knuckles on the stainless-steel bench.

"Oh yes. It is. Loads. Fine, Ruby. Let's be friends." Keep them close, right? If nothing else, this girl made her smile. That wasn't a small thing right now. And if she were working with the George and Lennie, Caroline preferred to keep two eyes on her at all times.

"Good." The girl smiled back, and it was a terrible sight. Crooked teeth spaced poorly and a premolar missing on the top left side.

"Alright. Since we're friends, can I ask you some questions?"

"Knowing is half the battle."

"Marie said I'd be getting – be able – to speak with Eleanor tomorrow. That's my wife." Caroline chose her words carefully. Even if Ruby were a friend, for now, it didn't mean she wasn't necessarily collecting information. "Do you know anything about how that will happen? Last time I was just escorted out of my cell after breakfast. Do calls happen at the same time every day?"

"I mean, I don't get a lot of this and that from outside, but I think yeah. My sister did call me once, to apologize for rear-ending me when my ex-boy rear-ended her. I think that was in the morning." Ruby polished off her goulash and practically licked the plate. "Told her where to get off and you can believe I wasn't Miss Manners about it the way you are. But yeah, I think it was like, before lunchtime."

"Good news." It was. It was excellent news. She wondered how Eleanor was faring out there. Had whatever demands were being made been delivered? Was it just money – or would there be some other form of jeopardy attached? Caroline would stay in here infinitely if it meant keeping Eleanor safe. She'd do anything for her wife. Tomorrow, reassurance, couldn't come soon enough.

"And do you know if I can make a call out?" Caroline had one particular friend in mind, and she'd give almost as much to talk to Jane as to Eleanor.

"Nah. Probably not. I mean, I've asked and all. But never got one."

"Ah." Caroline sagged.

Overhead, a loud buzzer. Dinner-time over. She nodded at Ruby, who flashed her another painful grin.

"Keep your chin up, girl."

"Right on, girl," Caroline tossed back. She managed to keep her tone no drier than a pricey Cab Franc.

* * *

Carefully, Caroline turned to her side. They'd re-issued mattresses that afternoon. The term mattress was a stretch for what she lay on. It was a barrier between her and the metal and was somewhat softer than the frame of the bunk itself, though it smelled like mice and deodorizer.

It was night, still, she guessed. The windowless room was dark, save a rectangle of light from the cross-hatch portal on the door.

It hurt to be on her side again. The arm that Lannie had clutched like a pitbull clamped on the neck of a rabbit had bruised up nicely. But it hurt as badly on the other side. Or on her back, and since she'd thrown that out so many years ago, she could no longer sleep on her stomach.

That left her here, again, nose inches from the pale-lime, stained cinderblock. Every five minutes she woke in pain. She ached as though some invisible hand were trussing her at the shoulder blades. Tiny gear-teeth piercing her muscles and cinching her midback in a hot vise. She started to cry. Frustrated, so hungry for sleep, her need for it poured from her eyes. There was no way to contain it and nowhere else for it to go. With a little sob, she gave up.

Caroline slapped the rough, cool wall. She rolled over and stood. She pulled herself up slowly, hands wrapped at her waist. She took a slow, shallow breath. Then another, and another, until she knew that the simple act of breathing would not seize her body up entirely. She knelt, one had on the bed frame steadying her way down. Now on her knees, she placed both palms in front of her on the chill, grey, concrete floor, and her forehead as well. She took small breaths in. Then larger. She let the air slowly expand her from the shoulders. She exhaled gently, pushing out every bit of the stale, worthless air in this place that her lungs held. She dwelled in the discomfort of needing to breath, choosing not to until the exercise became unpleasant.

Left no worldly agency to rid herself of her physical and spiritual misery, she thought of Kate. It was the only reference she had for such abject helplessness. Tucked into herself in the most defensive position she could create, Caroline knew again in this Parisian tomb the feeling of waking up that very first morning after Kate's death. That violent, real moment when the sunlight hit her eyes. Sober, weak and thin. After a bad night's sleep, the light too real, the day arrived. No time left to dream away the undeniable fact that there was nothing at all she could ever do to stop the slow, ceaseless ripping in her chest. Waking up that first morning without Kate, Caroline understood for the first time in her life, at age forty-six, how it felt to be completely powerless. To know that she'd give everything she'd ever known or loved to change a simple truth – and it that could never be changed at any price.

Posed as a child on the unyielding concrete, Caroline remembered Kate, and how Kate felt. Sun-soaked afternoon strolls under elm trees shedding their leaves. Cold winter nights tucked together on the sofa watching the rain. Kate who had come and gone, and left her shattered and empty, but new. A woman who knew enough to never, ever give up. Life held too much promise.

Her body began to calm. In and out went the air, in and out went her panic, until it was all the same, and it was all neutral, and it was all – tolerable. A ball of release and lost hope hunched on the floor, Caroline finally fell asleep. Tomorrow there still wouldn't be Kate. But there would be Eleanor.

* * *

"It's late. I ought to get on home." Holly laid a gentle hand on Eleanor's shoulder. "I'll be back in the morning. I'll call my friend at the jail again. And if you want to go to the police with this, I can go with you."

"You're welcome to stay. The sofa pulls out, and I can make it for you in no time." Eleanor clutched Holly's hand, took note of the thin, white-gold wedding band. It felt right to keep her close.

"I still wear it. Just something that won't let me forget how good life can be - with the right person." Holly answered the question she hadn't asked. "And of course I'll stay if you want me to."

The building popped. Eleanor's toes lifted an inch. Just the aging edifice settling in the cooling Parisian spring night. She glanced down at the letter on the dining table. Three simple, cream papers spotted with unassuming black type. They looked so harmless, just words on a page. But the simplicity was deceiving. The tiny black-ink siguls had changed her when she read them.

"I don't want to be alone. I've never been good at it and I certainly don't want to start trying now. You'd be doing me a favor."

Holly shed her scarlet cardigan. "I think it would do me good to stay. I'm worried about you. I worried about you during the divorce, too. How you were holding up under Emma. But you had the girls."

"I have Caroline now, I suppose. But – " Eleanor forced a breath out and in. She didn't feel like crying again. What she felt was pathetic. She also felt that room to think stood between her and getting on top of this situation. "I'll decide what to do – about what they want me to do – in the morning."

"There's no better advice I could give than sleeping on it." Holly knelt down to check out the sofa, then slid the coffee table to the side. She grabbed the front panel on the pull-out and pulled. It gave with a creak, and she eased it to the floor. "Good as any I've seen."

"Mmmmmm. I wish I could do better." Eleanor rummaged in a tiny cubby cabinet near the kitchen and discovered a set of thread-bare, perhaps fifty-count, faded green sheets. The chartreuse hue reminded her of Caroline's complexion when the sea had turned rough on their Mediterranean sail last summer. "At least let me lend you something to sleep in."

Holly untucked her trim button-down and nodded. "I've never stood on ceremony when it came to decent pajamas."

"Good." Eleanor started to make the bed, as it was.

"I can manage." Holly nudged her aside and took the linens.

"Yes you can. I suppose I just wanted something to do." Eleanor smiled and retreated to the bedroom. She rummaged in the small dresser. Her neat matching pajama sets lay folded next to Caroline's old over-sized chambray button-downs. They started as elegant leisure-wear, graduated to Sunday house-work wear, then finally retired to the bedroom, where they fell to cover just enough of her thighs to be sexy.

That wouldn't do for Holly at all. She riffled further. There. The black and white "J'adore Paris" t-shirt with the little Eiffel Tower – "A" that Caroline had given her to announce the surprise trip at Christmas. Habit or hope had prompted her wife to buy two sizes too large. It would be generous on her friend's small frame.

Eleanor stopped to grab a glass of water for her guest before she presented her with the borrowed sleep ware.

"Thanks." Holly looked up from her phone. She'd been intent on the screen until Eleanor came right up next to her.

"Welcome. And thank you. Hope your white horse doesn't mind shacking up in the alley with the drunks tonight, while you're babysitting me."

"Apparently he's taken offense and wandered off," Holly replied. "I haven't been able to do much at all for you yet. I'm sorry about that."

"You've been a familiar face and a steady soul when I needed it. More than once. So – thanks," Eleanor insisted she accept the gratitude. "And I won't be happy either unless you'll have a Scotch with me. No way I'm going to bed cold tonight."

"As a rule, I never say no when a Strathclyde offers Scotch."

"I remember you and Dad having a nasty brawl one night over Highland versus Speyside."

"Understand your prejudices, but Highland will always be superior." Holly grinned and plunked down on the loveseat under the window.

"You'll have to suffer with me tonight, then. The Balvenie's all I've got." Eleanor apologized as she poured two generous burnt-caramel tumblers.

"Still?"

"Always." She handed the nightcap over and sat. Near enough to the woman to smell her soap and the day on her, note the smooth curl of flaxen hair at her neckline just above her loose collar. "This isn't a joke, is it? It's certainly not funny. Not any of it."

"It's not, I'm afraid. Sizes up about the same as most extortion jobs I've seen. Though a little more imaginative."

"People would tell George and Margaret to get insurance for this kind of thing. They always laughed about it." Eleanor set her chin in her hand and stared out the window toward home.

"They shouldn't have."

"I suppose not. I thought I'd been able to get rid of enough to escape notice," Eleanor sighed. She put back half her drink, intending to mete out the rest. Clear head and all.

"You and Caroline – escaping notice? Tough job." Holly finished her drink, shook her head when Eleanor cast a pointed gaze at her empty glass.

Eleanor stayed quiet, contemplating. The other woman kept talking.

"I spent a little time researching you. After you called me. Actually, I couldn't find more than one or two accurate hits for you, Eleanor. But Caroline was all over the place." Holly set her empty on the table before them, leaned forward on to her knees and leaned into Eleanor. It wasn't an accusation, though given the contents of the letter and the current situation, it might have been.

"Consequence of her job, the public profile. I've never been comfortable with it, and now – " Eleanor shrugged.

"I'm not blaming the victim. Victims –"

"No." Eleanor interrupted her. "I need to go to bed." She swallowed a flood of Scotch in one go, let the heat sting her nose and water her eyes.

"You do." The other woman opened up her arms for a good-night hug. "One for the road?"

Eleanor accepted with a smile. "This will all seem better over a cup of tea in the morning, won't it?"

"I don't think so." Holly pulled away, slowly. The grimace she wore aged her face, pulled wrinkles from the edges of her amber eyes.

Eleanor grimaced back. Then, she darted in for a soft, quick kiss on Holly's cheek. She couldn't say why she did it. "I don't think so either. Goodnight."

"Yes. Right. Goodnight." Holly stuttered out the words and ducked her head.

* * *

Eleanor lay in bed, eyes wide open, and watched quarter the moon track across the skylight. It was waning. In a few days the night would be empty. Paris, for all its romance, was the city of light. Stars were an indulgence for another time and place.

Their neighbor had clanked at the piano for an hour, broken minor-key arpeggios punctuated with children's nursery songs, and then laid off. But Eleanor still lay awake. Listening in the darkness for movement, and answers. Why? She wasn't truly interested in that. The question pricked at her, surely. But how? How was the one that mattered, and she listened until her ears rang for the answer in this place that was now so strange to her.

One million Euros. Pennies to ransom Caroline's freedom. Even if they lost it all, even if the bastards who'd set this up took the money and ran, it would be worth it. Not that the operation seemed fly-by-night. They'd planned, clearly, and were good at what they did. The pages she'd received were clear of purpose. Establish legitimacy, and the ability to deliver on threats and promises.

The first page had been dossiers on Caroline, Eleanor, Flora, June, and Lily, with enough primary and peripheral data on their lives to articulate access to sensitive information on all of them. Things like the color of Flora's club soccer jersey. The piece Lily played applying to Edinburgh. And that Caroline had recently made a habit out of buying pints of the nitro cold brew coffee at the snotty coffee shop two blocks from Agnes Bates.

The second page was a highlighted map of every destination Caroline and Eleanor had visited in Paris. Even the midnight stop at the café for crepes, their day night in the city.

The last page held the demands. The cash she'd lay out. The instructions she'd follow, which would be much more difficult that coughing up a ransom.

Eleanor would have to hurt people to free Caroline. And even if she did that well, her wife might still be trapped for a very long time in a very bad place. She knew, just like she knew the sun would rise, that there was no paying to make this awfulness go away.

But her monetary resources had always been the least reliable of the tools in her kit. Charm went far. Intelligence opened many doors. Her inability to give up on what she wanted? Formidable. But cunning – cunning was razor's-edge skill she'd acquired the hard way that always saw her clear. She compiled the variables, totaled the sums, weighed the outcomes, and made her choice.

Eleanor sniffled. She swiped at her eyes, rubbed out her nose, blinked rapidly until her vision cleared. She rose from the bed and padded out into dark the living room. The moon was absent here, but the city glowed orange through the open window.

She stood over Holly, silent. Admired the shine of her soft golden hair in the dim light. Watched the firm curves of her chest rise and fall. She wondered if she were really asleep. Wondered if instead she were strung tight, waiting, every anticipating muscle coiled as tightly as her own.

Without a word, she lifted the light green sheet and the light blanket and slid in next to the other woman. Eleanor would do anything for Caroline.


	21. Chapter 21

Caroline dropped the sticky black phone she'd been clutching. It stretched to the end of the thick cord and banged against the cinderblock wall. She fumbled at it and brought it back up to her ear.

"What?"

"Five-hundred thousand Euros is as high as I'll go," Eleanor replied coolly, as though she were not flea-market bargaining a ransom demand.

"Eleanor – " Caroline's mouth began to form words. Several, all at once. None of them made it out. Over grey, cold oatmeal, horsey Marie had filled in some of the finer details of the anticipated contact this morning. Eleanor would consent to a non-descript, 'offer.' Caroline would confirm, and the transaction would begin. None of this was going the way she – and Caroline suspected Marie – had anticipated.

"And that's that. Please also relay that I have no plans to visit the _Palais Garnier_ again."

Eleanor followed that up, but with something Caroline couldn't hear. She must have covered the phone. Who was she speaking to – who was with her? Perhaps that was the problem - someone was coercing her. It was the only thing that might explain - this. "Is there – are you – Eleanor if you're not alone and you need to call back – "

"I don't need to call back. I know I'm deviated from the, plan, so to speak. But it's for the best. Trust me, Caroline."

"Or course. But – "

"I do love you, darling," Eleanor insisted, sounding impatient. "And I understand what you're going through, that it's difficult, and that the stakes seem very high. But this is simply a business transaction. I trust you can hang in there a while longer while it's conducted properly."

" _Hang in_ a while longer?" Everything disappeared from Caroline's peripheral vision. There was a faint stain on the wall in front of her that remained within her sight, just below the phone cradle. Rust colored. Looked like – like the ghost of dead fleur de lis.

"Please don't raise your voice." Eleanor's infuriating, well-worn placating-Caroline response. "I know you're upset. I'm sorry. I really am."

"You're sorry?"

"Okay we're not getting anywhere. I don't think we have much time left. Truly – how are you holding up?"

The question, just the question there at the end, sounded right. It _sounded_ right, the way Eleanor's voice should, right now. Deeper, and true. Caroline pawed her way through incredulity. She gave her wife, herself, room. Fell into routine to keep her reality moving forward.

"My back is killing me."

"Oh I am sorry to hear that."

She was gone again. Her Eleanor. Some other woman, an aloof stranger was back on the line.

"Well I'm sure getting out of here fast would fix me right up."

"I'm sure it would."

 _"Deux minutes."_ That heartless digital warning Caroline had been anticipating since this terrible conversation began.

"Eleanor, I love – "

"Caroline, you know, when – if – this all gets sorted. I was thinking we ought to get out to Blackpool – "

" _If_ this all gets _sorted_? And why in the world – " Blackpool? Eleanor had actually faked illness when Caroline had tried to drag her there once, on false pretense. The pollution had gotten all the way out of hand in the mid-twenties, and -

Eleanor's disregard interrupted Caroline's thoughts. "We can go somewhere, I suppose, is what I'm saying. If you don't want to go there that's fine. I was just trying to give you something to look forward to. Let's not end on a bad note. This whole thing is distressing enough."

"Okay." Caroline almost dropped the phone again. The muscles in her face had become completely useless, and her fingers weren't faring much better.

 _"Une minute."_

"Five-hundred thousand. No _Palais Garnier,_ I'm afraid."

"Right," Caroline whispered.

"Okay. Chin up. I love you, darling. Don't forget."

"Yep. Love you back." Routine. Reflex. The only thing left in Caroline's tiny, numb world.

The line went dead. Caroline felt she might as well be. She hung the phone gently on the cradle. She sat on the hard metal stool until the guard hauled her up by the armpit.

 _"Allons-y."_

 _"Oui."_ Caroline managed the single word with a surprisingly good accent. Hooray – at least her French was improving.

The guard hustled her through a bland maze of halls out to the common room. Across the sea of women milling pointlessly, Marie and Lannie. Both standing with arms crossed. Both staring at Caroline.

Her feet wouldn't lift off the floor, but that was fine. The dynamic duo were headed toward her.

Lannie came to a stop uncomfortably close. Did she really smell that bad, or was lunch being prepared?

"Your conversation with your girlfriend went smoothly," Marie asked.

"Well. I don't know if I'd say that." For whatever reason, Eleanor had chosen an alternative strategy. Until she knew more, Caroline would back her play. She put her shoulders back, shrugged. "Five-hundred thousand. That's her number."

"That's not how this works." Marie's eyes darted up to Lannie's.

"It's how it's going to work." Caroline stuffed ten pounds of bravado into what she had left of her voice.

Marie wagged a long finger in Caroline's face. "This is not good for you."

"It's how it is. So, what's next?" Over Marie's shoulder, she caught sight of Ruby. Caroline tipped her a wink. She was going to sell this act hard, apparently.

"What's next," Marie replied, "is that your beefy British ass is going to sit in jail for a very long time."

* * *

"That's done." Eleanor laid her phone on the glass table top. She reclined against the dining chair, breathing slow and deep.

"You did really well." Holly put two strong hands over Eleanor's shoulders. Her fingertips rested well below her collarbones as she kneaded gently. She leaned forward, wrapped her arms all the way around her, planted a small kiss at the top of her head. "I can't say I agree with what you're doing, but you're certainly not leaving room for doubt about your intentions."

Eleanor stood, chair shoved back, scraping across the hardwood floor. "I assume that someone has, or will, listen to the conversation. It was important to be firm. And honestly, I don't know if I can trust that the payoff will work. I'd rather not waste money on it." She cleared her throat. Paced to the kitchen, grabbed a tissue to blow her nose. "This damn hovel is so dusty. I can't believe Caroline sold me on it."

"You might be here awhile. If they don't accept your counteroffer."

"Oh no. If this is for the long-haul, I'll head back to England. It's quick enough to get here when I need to visit. I can't stand this city anymore."

"Eleanor – " Holly moved in once again. Eleanor had turned away, so she hugged her from behind. After last night Holly had become much more physically affectionate. "I thought you didn't buy into cynicism. And I'd hate for you to leave so soon."

"Mmm. You're right. I'm definitely out of sorts. Why don't we get out of here. I think some fresh air would do me good." Eleanor shook herself, as though shaking off her bad mood, and put on a smile as she faced Holly.

"And – " The corners of Holly's slender lips inched upward. "I'd say probably something to eat, right?"

"You know me so well," Eleanor drawled, already headed toward the bedroom. "Just let me change into something a little warmer. It's gotten chilly outside, I think."

* * *

Caroline's world was changing. In some ways, reverting.

With Kate, since Eleanor, a different woman had emerged. Caroline had shed ghosts of a pernicious melancholy that had haunted her throughout life. Glancing back at pictures with the boys when they were all younger, her smile had always been checked. She didn't think anyone else would notice, but she'd always looked a little guarded. Always challenging the camera's gaze, declaring her invulnerability and in so doing exposing a woman who was deeply vulnerable, and most of all, scared.

With no way at all to regulate who could be near her, when, who could talk to her, who couldn't, she was growing increasingly unable to manage her emotions. Her melancholy, depression was really what it was, with its sick, slick familiarity to it, was returning. Periods of forced closeness in the cramped common areas were insufferable, but the absolute isolation during the hours she spent alone weren't a relief. When she was with others, she immediately reached out for connection. She'd encountered one or two women willing to talk to her who didn't respond poorly, with heartbreaking stories to tell. But Ruby was the only person who seemed willing to interact on the regular.

Marched back to her cell after her unsuccessful confrontation with Marie, Caroline took the chance to think – not feel, but really think – about her conversation with Eleanor that morning.

It hadn't taken her long at all to reject any part of it as authentic. The change from her first call was simply too drastic. If they were threatening her, or one of the girls – that might do it. But why push Eleanor toward a lower dollar amount? That made no sense. Eleanor had been in control of the conversation. She'd made the choice to negotiate the payoff.

Caroline went over it again in her head, the pieces she could recall through the shock-induced adrenaline fog her mind had cast over it.

 _"I was thinking we ought to get out to Blackpool – "_

It was the remark that made the least sense of all. Caroline leaned back on her bunk, against the concrete wall, and thought about Blackpool, which they hadn't visited for Eleanor's fiftieth birthday.

* * *

They'd barely made it onto the A1 before Eleanor ripped off the blindfold Caroline had tied, and glanced around at the world flying by. "Dear God – we're not going to Cayton, are we? We're certainly not going to Blackpool. I knew it."

"You knew nothing. And your cold seems to really have started to clear up – already," Caroline rebutted.

"Mmmm. The miracle of modern medicine." Eleanor sniffled obviously, turned to Flora, reading in the back seat. "Earmuffs."

Flora didn't look up from her book, but dutifully placed her small hands over her ears.

Eleanor twirled the black satin cloth and popped Caroline's thigh. "Can we save this for later, in any case?"

"Only if you whine at me incessantly about how you don't _waaaant tooooo_." She drew out the last two words for seconds, a very good imitation of Flora. Eleanor had been a beast about the ruse she'd laid down for the location of her surprise birthday getaway. "Really gets me hot."

Eleanor said nothing, only crossed her arms and glared, then nodded the all-clear back at Flora.

Caroline waited for the follow-up, because Eleanor wouldn't be able to hold her tongue. She was also trying very hard not to smile. The surprise she'd planned was coming together very nicely – and she got a buzz in every extremity and in her gut when she imagined how pleased Eleanor would be with her, and how yes – both of them would be very glad to have saved the accessory Eleanor was now waving at her like a matador before a bull.

"You're no good at lying. I knew we weren't going to Blackpool. But that's fine. Because I love surprises. So I won't ask any more questions about what you've got up your sleeve." Eleanor had been true to her word, and they'd stuck to complaining about work and scheming about how to best manage their families during the upcoming holiday season as they cruised the motorway.

An hour later, Eleanor squealed and took Caroline's arm. "We're going to Tynemouth."

"Yep. And you're not disappointed we're not doing something more glamorous? Fifty's big."

"Can I walk Long Sands all I'd like, any time I'd like, day or night, all bundled up and holding your hand?"

"Yes."

"Then no, I'm not disappointed at all. I just wish June and Lily could be with us. It's hard to have them gone."

"Oh me too," bemoaned Caroline. She pressed her lips together and glanced up into the rearview, meeting Flora's eyes that burned with the secret they shared. She'd done better than any six-year-old had a right to at keeping it.

It had taken her a little more over a year after they'd married to understand that a home bursting to the seams with family, particularly their daughters, was the very thing that made Eleanor the very happiest. She was her most vibrant, sparkling self when they were all together. After long days spent talking about nothing and everything, big, noisy dinners with every dish dirtied followed by ice cream, she'd throw herself dramatically over whatever piece of furniture was at hand and groan. But she could never hide the tiny change in pitch in her voice, the lift belying her exhaustion.

Eleanor squealed again as they pulled into the drive of the large rental house, this time stomping her feet and practically ripping Caroline's arm from the steering wheel, before settling back down into her seat, a serene picture of calm. She pointed at the car already parked in the drive.

"I know what you've done."

"Do you?"

The vast blue winter sky, untouched by clouds and endless reached across the sea before them. It defined the vista looking past the two-story weathered stone house, waterside near the end of Long Sands beach. Two gulls streamed by on the winter drafts, wings gliding through the air, silent and serene.

The quiet shush of the steady breeze and the surf beyond greeted them when they got out of the car, only after Eleanor grabbed her firmly by the shirt collars and quickly kissed her before she darted out the passenger side.

The ocean-calm was drowned by two ecstatic howls as June and Lily, on leave for the weekend from Exeter and Edinburgh, came screaming out of the front door. "Haaappy biiirthdaaay mooom!"


	22. Chapter 22

Caroline plunged her hands back into the hot, soapy dishwater and opened the drain. She smiled at their three girls passed out in front of the fire on the living room sofa at the other end of the great room. Two of them had had more than their share of red wine with the pasta, and one of them was well-past her bedtime.

Beyond the massive picture window behind them, the world was pitch dark save a waning quarter moon. The night had cleared after a misty gray afternoon and bright stars glittered on the shifting waters of the North Sea.

"The house is awfully large for just the four of us." Eleanor finished drying the big stock pot and hunted around the generous kitchen of the rental for the right cupboard to store it.

"I suppose."

"And it looks like June and Lily have laid up enough groceries – and toilet paper - for an entire winter."

"Does it?"

"Shall I drop the second shoe, or would you like to?" Eleanor sidled right up next to Caroline, took her hands in the dishtowel she held, and dried them for her. She finished the task but didn't move away to start another.

"I suppose there's no use hiding it from you, Sherlock. Unless you'd like to flex your acting muscles and pretend surprise when the rest of the lot turns up. But the catering van's arrival would have blown my cover anyway."

"Caterers?"

"Yep." Caroline responded with an extra-poppy "p," so pleased with herself she couldn't hide it any longer. "I'm not going to try and pull-off a glamorous candlelit dinner party for fifty single-handed. Not even with June and Lily to help."

"You shouldn't even try." There was no hidden judgement about competency in Eleanor's sentiment. Simply agreement, Caroline knew, that there are people for these sorts of things. This benevolent assessment was reinforced by Eleanor moving even closer into her, though they'd been quite snug already. "Do you know when it is that I most want to have sex with you?"

Caroline coughed, glanced again toward the full couch. "I actually don't think I do." Truly. Her wife seemed indiscriminate about their love life.

Eleanor followed her gaze. "I'm going to put Flora to bed. The girls are on their own. I'll be in the bedroom in less than five minutes. And I have two explicit instructions for you. If you complete them satisfactorily, I'll answer my question."

"Okay," Caroline managed. She was distracted by everything Eleanor had going on. The benevolent, possessive embrace of her gaze checked by a twinkling simmer in her brown eyes. She hadn't really put her hands anywhere provocative, but where they did rest was growing warmer second by second.

"One." Eleanor held up her index finger, then leaned closer and dropped her voice. "Don't remove a single piece of clothing. I get the pleasure of taking off every last stitch."

Caroline nodded.

"Two," Eleanor raised the accompanying finger, "find that blindfold."

"Okay." Caroline eeked out. She watched Eleanor walk away, across the room. Check and bank the fire, then scoop up a mumbling Flora. She placed her gently over her shoulder, and carried her upstairs – eyes on Caroline more often than they weren't.

She glanced around for any errant mess, then flipped out all but the soft lights under the cabinets before heading to the master suite at the far end of the first floor. Making it through toddler-hood came with benefits. Including the _occasional_ right to privacy. She began to kick off her shoes as she closed the bedroom door, only to stop, remember instruction, smirk, and congratulate herself. Eleanor was indeed satisfied with her surprises. Caroline had rarely been so exceptionally happy to be right.

* * *

Caroline woke with a start as a buzzer sounded overhead. What time was it? She must have fallen asleep. She rubbed her back and stood, tried to guess if it were lunch time, or dinner time. Her day had become marked by meals, pillars to hang time on. No dark no light, no work and home. Just food and sleep.

Her world was hard, but she didn't feel that anymore. Not right now. There wasn't anyone she trusted like she did Eleanor. She glanced around the little cell. Her time here was coming to a close. Eleanor would find a way to work it.

The door flew open. On the other side of the frame, Marie, Lannie, and a guard. The smile that had come to Caroline's lips fell from them slowly.

 _"Allons-y,"_ demanded the guard.

 _"Oui,"_ Caroline replied, in an accent that was coming along nicely.

* * *

Eleanor closed the door and dropped onto the lumpy bed of the rented apartment. Had the last twenty-four hours been the worst of her life? Perhaps. The next might be much worse. She'd sold Holly too well on her damsel in distress identity. She'd spent the night in her arms, crying, and redirecting Holly's hands whenever they wandered into too-familiar territory. It seemed, though, that Eleanor's boundaries were being regarded as temporary. Then again, maybe that was for the better.

There was no way Holly's convenient spring encampment in Paris and total availability to Eleanor was simply coincidence. Nor was the mysterious delivery of the instruction letter all that mysterious. Caroline had minders where she was, surely, and it would be stupid if Eleanor didn't have one as well.

These people weren't stupid. What she was feeling out now was exactly how smart they were. She hoped Caroline had clocked that she was up to something, and not taken her brush-off this morning to heart.

"Damn." Eleanor reached into her back pocket for her phone, only to remember she'd left it on the dining room table as she'd fled from Holly's comforting backrub. Now that she had a real sense of what was happening, something concrete to report about the situation, she needed desperately to talk to Meg. But she'd have to shed Holly, first. She'd manage it on the streets of Paris. Plenty of places to hide.

First though, she was tired. Bone-tired. She lay back on the bed and closed her eyes, to dream about the trip she and Caroline hadn't taken to Blackpool.

* * *

"I see you've followed instruction to the letter." Eleanor clicked the door shut softly behind her. Poor Caroline stood looking eager and helpless near the window overlooking the bluff and the black sea beyond.

They'd already gotten in _two_ walks, one with the whole family, then another tonight with Caroline after dinner. The tide had turned late that afternoon, and it had roared toward the shore during their brief moonlit stroll. The energy of it was just a piece of what had Eleanor so up tonight, the way horses get in a spring wind. She just needed to run.

"I have." Caroline held up the blindfold she'd used to make more of a game of her transparent attempt to throw Eleanor off the trail this morning. How was every single piece of her gorgeous wife also so completely adorable?

"And you've even gone above and beyond." Eleanor surveyed the flickering room that smelled heavy of wax. She didn't take time to count the tealights, but there was no way there weren't exactly fifty. Again – adorable. And quick with a lighter.

"Are you going to just stand there and torture me all night?" Caroline stepped out of one shoe, silently daring Eleanor to object.

"No, and I'll even overlook your little transgression there." Eleanor couldn't help herself any longer. She rushed across the room and grabbed Caroline and kissed her. Unfortunately, Caroline was caught off-kilter, only one shoe left on, and they both started laughing as she tried to compensate.

"Which promise do you want me to keep first? Stripping you, or confessing?"

"First, let's back off the fifty shades of Eleanor." Caroline removed the other low heel and tossed it toward the closet. "And I can't wait for either one."

"Right." Eleanor stood back, took her in. She brushed her fingers through Caroline's greying blonde hair. Picked at, then smoothed her shirt, and generally stalled to figure out how she could put words to what she wanted to say.

Caroline started to look less starry-eyed, but no less willing. "Let me help you. You'd been saying there's particular times you're a little more eager? Clue me in, because I had no idea."

"Yes. I can see how it wouldn't exactly be obvious, but yes. I mean there's stressed-out sex, and that's probably my least favorite, though sometimes the most critical." Eleanor found her way back up onto the horse and started unbuttoning Caroline's shirt. "And there's make-up sex, which still isn't my favorite, but let's be honest – with us – "

"It's less rare than we'd like to admit?"

"Mmmmm. But still remarkable." Eleanor finished with the button down, lifted the white camisole that lay beneath up and over Caroline's head. She paused the disrobing to take in one of her favorite sights. Just a little was always sexier than everything. Not that everything wasn't -

"And?" Caroline interrupted.

Eleanor didn't mind the indulgent look on her face, as she stood patiently for the appraisal.

"And – " no time left to stall. It was hard to be this vulnerable with anyone, even Caroline. But she'd seen what emotional honesty had done for her wife. The way it had drawn her out, over time. Even changed her smile. "I most enjoy being with you – I _have_ to be with you, in fact, when everything's right. When we're seaside for my birthday, and you've surprised me by bringing the girls home and they're sleeping here under the same roof, and we'll all be up together with pancakes and strong coffee in the morning, and I'm married to the woman I always should have been married to, and we laughed all day and had an easy, delicious dinner, and they'll be a fine party, but not until tomorrow, and I have all day to look forward to it while we're walking on the beach – " Eleanor stopped. She didn't' have anything left to say.

"Past, present, and future, all just right. Everything in your head is good. I think I believe it now. There is something called perfect, isn't there? As much as it can be for a couple mere mortals like us, anyway." Caroline finished the sentiment. "Like today. Today was perfect."

"Yes. And I look at you and there's too much," Eleanor confided. "There's just too much Caroline, so I have to share some of how I feel with you. I have to give something away, a little part of me, to complete it. To understand it and be able to hold it in a way that makes sense."

"I think maybe it's my favorite when to be with you, too." Fifty tea lights dancing around them but Caroline's glowing eyes were only barely blue. The little flames licked her face with small shadows and passed over each regal feature quickly. Illuminating, then hiding a piece of her, only to light another.

The candles danced and began to melt and soon enough a puddle of clothes lay on the carpet, a circle at their feet of what didn't need to be between them. The thick air was warm and their skin was warm and even the dark was warm as they lost their footing and fell onto the soft, strange bed, where the sheets were crisp and cool.

In the silence, from a distance, Eleanor heard the breakers ceaselessly pounding the shore, felt the sandy beach disappearing inch by inch, slipping slowly under the water to spend the night flooded with life.

She tasted the salt of it, but it wasn't the sea, it was Caroline, and the tide had taken them, and they tumbled all the way under, together, and it was perfect.


	23. Chapter 23

The Marais was noisy and alive Sunday afternoon. The sun graced the tourists eyeing down the merchandise in the jam-packed stalls of the market, just across the way from Eleanor and Caroline's once happy flat. Parisians eyed down the tourists or refused to give them even a first glance as they shopped for necessities and not indulgences.

Eleanor swished a wrist and a hand over at Holly, who was bumping her way through the throng to fetch them a late lunch. The investigator had been sold a lie about how positively exhausted Eleanor was by all this, and how she couldn't possibly go on. She reviewed her decision to give the woman a pass, then her decision to center her life around Caroline. Only one of them, despite professional pursuits, could see through her like glass and put her right in her place. She preferred that tremendously about her wife.

Speaking of Caroline – Eleanor returned her attention to her call with Meg.

"Eleanor you were right to call me. Should've done yesterday, but then, I was at the football match and then the pub, and then another pub, and – "

"Meg, I don't care about Manchester or your alcoholism. Please focus on helping me."

"You think I'm not? Then you're further off than I'd figured you'd be. Course there's some ghosts I can summon for you. I'm officially out of the game – but I suppose once you're in it you never really are, are you?"

Eleanor had heard the phone jump over to speaker half-way through Meg's rebuke that turned to longing at the end for a life past, followed by the clatter of a keyboard, and then her friend picked up the line again Meg grousing again –

"I don't keep anything on this phone. Anyone can get into your data these days, and I'm sure you'll take that warning to heart now – " she trailed off again, more clicking.

Eleanor waited, anxious. Her eyes darted around the crowded marketplace. The wan young woman with a nest of fine brown hair picking through baguettes. The fat man, dark and German looking, picking out lamb chops. No sign yet of Holly and their Moroccan feast. Eleanor had sent her almost a block away, insisting on couscous, though she actually had her eye on the creamy lemon-meringue yogurt on in the display case across the narrow alley from her table.

"Meg today, please."

"You rush me you won't like the results. You're in a bad way, I can tell. Let me get you Jill."

"No there's no time for that. I can cry on her shoulder when Caroline's safe. Just tell me what I can do."

"What can you do? You've got a ransom demand, and Caroline in jail, and an implied threat. And you're told to show up to tour that gaudy old opera house to pass on the misery to the next mark. Now we've got their system, at least. Poor old woman who did Caroline at the catacombs is probably down a million and long out of the country by now. Yep. Okay. Eleanor, listen to me. You do nothing. I like that you played for time. I don't want you to do anything they ask. At all. Once you do, they'll have something on you and at that point I might not be able to help you."

"But I don't care about the payoff – "

"Could get you into the biggest trouble of all. We've no idea where that money's going or who's taking it. Your cash ends up attached to guns, drugs, kids, it's bad."

"I see." Eleanor rubbed the back of her neck. So much for buying her way out.

Meg continued, though Eleanor forgot to pay attention for a few seconds - "You've got one with her eye on you, you're certainly right about that. So clumsy it almost seems intentional. Probably another one too and you won't see him or her, possibly ever – "

Eleanor searched the marketplace again. An older man, tall, wearing a long, dark coat caught her eye, then she his. He glanced away very quickly – then smiled as a graceful older woman took his arm. He bent down to kiss her cheek. They walked off and Eleanor felt forgotten. She searched the crowd again. The young woman at the boulangerie who was still picking out her Sunday loaf. A mousy girl with a small mouth that had said more than one _'bon jour'_ and _'merci'_ to her and to Caroline.

"Meg, suppose I did see her. The second one."

"Pretend you didn't. Until I tell you otherwise. And we'll assume your mobile isn't safe. Nothing you could do about that, though, still glad you called me – "

"This isn't my cell."

"Oh clever girl. Very clever girl," Meg replied, with an additional approving cluck.

"I am. Thank you. Have you got someone yet, by the way?"

"Yes. Got a name and he's a good one, remembered him as soon as he popped up. If you get to meet him, you'll like him."

"I've enough friends."

"You've got the right friends and thank you, is what you mean to say," Meg corrected her.

"Yes, Meg, thank you for helping, but maybe I ought to just call the police? Or the consulate?" Eleanor looked up, she'd forgotten to be on watch -

"You just have. I told you I have a man and he's good – "

She felt a firm hand grab her shoulder. Then, a steaming bowl of sweetly fragrant couscous appeared in front of her, Holly with her own.

"Just the ticket to revive you. Who're you on with?"

Holly smiled as she asked and when she sat down opposite, but Eleanor wasn't sure of anything. Then the other woman looked down at her own mobile, buzzing where she'd just sat it on the table, and Eleanor didn't have time to judge her further.

She leaned toward a distracted Holly, who'd begun to scowl, and made up an answer. "It's June. I've told her about Caroline." She held a finger up and returned to the call.

"Darling I have to go. Tell your sister I love her, and I promise I'll let you know the minute Caroline's back to us."

"Don't use this phone again," Meg replied. "I can get you when I need to. You will hear from me. Hang in there, love."

"Yes, you too. Goodbye." Eleanor snapped the cheap mobile shut. She turned back to Holly and pretended to be ravenous. The bowl in front of her on the mosaic-tiled café table was filled with savory sultanas and veg and chunks of rare beef that ought to be appetizing but weren't.

"New mobile?" The other woman gestured toward it as Eleanor tucked it into her purse.

"Ah. Yes. Mine seems to have gone on the fritz."

"Let me take a look at it. I'm good with tech." Holly reached a hand across the table, palm up. She wasn't smiling anymore. Her eyes were clear and brown, flashing like the Seine in the sunlight as the day disappeared into night.

"Of course." The couscous was spicy. The top of Eleanor's head felt hot, then cool, as she began to sweat.

* * *

Shifty Marie paced in front of Caroline. Lannie the bull stood, stolid, with her arms crossed and looking ready to charge. Caroline kept her back to the beige cinderblock wall of the empty cafeteria where she'd been dragged from her cell. She kept glancing over to the guard who never looked anywhere near them.

She looked to the top of the room at small windows near the high ceilings. A rectangle of blue, cloudless sky told her that the sun was out. Despite the rude awakening, she had felt a little better after her nap and dreams of Eleanor. Her wife had caught on and that was a comforting thought. The allusion to Blackpool was a message; 'the blindfold is off, and the ruse revealed.'

Still, here she was, none the better for any of it.

Marie and her long face came to rest in front of her. "We have had a chance to talk it over, and we have a new approach for you. We will be more direct this time."

Lannie took a step forward.

Caroline stood her ground. She really had no choice. "Alright."

"Your children are out of reach. But you, your wife, are not."

Caroline panicked. Then, because that was useless, she thought about what Marie had just said. Out of reach. This was a local shake-down. She prayed Flora hadn't been able to get a flight to Paris yet.

"What about the whole 'no one gets hurt' pitch from yesterday," she finally replied.

"As I said. We have a new approach."

"So do I." Caroline took a step forward.

Marie's thin lips parted, only for a second, before she cleared her throat. "You get all puffed up all the time, but I don't care – "

"I don't _care_ what you _care_ about," Caroline responded. "I've a new approach myself and that's to not give a shit about what you say. I don't think you're going to beat me up, or Eleanor, because you would have done that already. Assaults and hospitals and attention aren't what you want, that's clear enough. You're not thugs out for petty cash and so is that. This new approach is just a new tactic I don't buy. So perhaps you can let me go back to my little cell where I was having a lovely dream, and we can wait for my _wife_ and your boss to come to an understanding."

Caroline leaned back against the wall and tried to look casual about it. Her legs shook and she needed the support. Bluffing faculty and school children were a far cry from bluffing strange women locked up in foreign jails. "Just what are you getting out of all of this, anyway, Marie? Money? Enough to make it worth holing up in a jail to babysit me?" She thought about Eleanor bargaining for her freedom. Maybe it was time to take a page. "Perhaps you'd like to do better out of all of this."

Marie shrugged. "Very good. I see. I don't think you or your girlfriend is going to like my boss very much. She doesn't prefer the hands-on approach, but she can certainly manage it when she needs to."

The door at the far end of the cafeteria, home to the world's worst food, buzzed. Through it came Caroline's newest best friend Ruby.


	24. Chapter 24

_**And we race at a snail's pace toward our exciting conclusion. 10-ish chapters to go. Would be fewer, except Caroline can be very stubborn and very persistent about things when she feels wronged.**_

* * *

"Can you unlock it for me?" Holly held the mobile right up to Eleanor's face. She wasn't scowling anymore, but she stared into Eleanor with a coldness and a confidence that had been absent an hour ago.

Eleanor took it, adjusted the angle, unlocked it, and passed it back. "There's something going on with the cell carrier. It keeps searching for a signal."

"Looks fine to me. Are all the other apps working?" Holly slid her finger across the screen, tapped and swiped. Eleanor couldn't tell what she was or wasn't looking at.

"Oh this is cute." Holly flipped the phone around. She'd gone into Eleanor's photos.

The snap was a cluster of young women in front of the _D'Orsay_ , all wearing Liverpool football jerseys. Holly clicked through it to the attached message she'd sent late yesterday afternoon to Meg, who was listed simply as M in her contacts. _"Tell your bestie she needs to come get her people."_

Holly laughed. She still stared at Eleanor, but the lines left her face and she took a bite of shawarma, catching a dribble of grease down her chin with a napkin before she responded. "You actually know someone who's a fan of Liverpool?"

"Not really. It was more of a joke." A pass-through, and she assumed Meg had caught on. She hadn't had time to confirm.

"On them."

"Yes, right." Eleanor forced her own laugh and continued with her meal. It had been the most scrumptious thing she'd had when she'd visited the street stall with Caroline. Now it tasted like hot sand.

"I'm glad you've got a little appetite. I'm sure this will all be over soon. Did they give you further instruction after you pulled your little bargaining stunt?"

"Ehm – no. And I was wondering – your friend at the jail. Any news?"

"No. I think I'm about to un-friend her. Clearly she's not as useful as she once was. Time to try a new approach." Holly had been eating with far more gusto. She polished off her meal and cleaned the plate with a last swipe of pita across the thick red sauce. "Shall we go back to the apartment? You don't seem that hungry."

"Maybe a walk will do me good. I'm so tired of this whole ordeal. I feel claustrophobic in this dingy little alleyway. Can we go to the Jules Verne? A chocolate souffle with champagne and a view will clear my head."

"You want to walk to the Eiffel Tower?" Holly's expression brightened.

"God no. We'll ride there and walk the allay. The sun should be on the way down by the time we get across the city, and we can watch it set over dessert. On the way I'll call and get us a table. If we have to wait at all we'll do it out on the observation deck."

"There's no way – "

"Of course there is," Eleanor replied coolly. "Now that you've worked your magic on my mobile, the best view and the best wine in Paris are only one call away. If you want to share it with me, that is." She leaned forward and put her hand on the table, turned her gaze up to Holly, and grinned.

Holly laid her fingers over Eleanor's, beaming with pleasure. Eleanor gave them a squeeze before she let go. She stood, tried not to sway, and wondered how much longer she could keep this up. She looked up to the cloudless sky. The view from the tower this afternoon would be lovely.

* * *

"Girl I have been looking all over for you." Ruby swaggered through the buzzing door, guard at her back, dark eyes on Caroline.

"Well you found me." Caroline glanced from Marie to Lannie, back over to Ruby. The guard who'd been escorting her stayed at the door as the younger woman made her way over.

"And your jail buddies too. Looks like you're having fun. Marie, are you having fun?" Ruby tucked herself between Caroline's unwanted companions. She elbowed Lannie in her surprisingly firm paunch. "Lan, you having fun?"

The large woman didn't respond.

Several ideas of what any of these women might consider fun entered Caroline's mind. There was little doubt now who was who in her brave new world. She wanted to cry about it, but she wouldn't. Or, maybe she would. One way or the other she figured she'd be shedding more than one tear, and very soon.

Ruby grinned at her, gaps where many of her teeth ought to be. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her pupils very wide, and a sheen of sweat covered the freckles dotted across her crooked nose.

Ruby clapped Caroline on the shoulder, and she jumped.

"Can't blame you for that!" The small woman laughed, dodged back and forth, trying to get Marie and Lannie in on the joke. "You must be so fucking scared right now!"

Marie seemed to be bored. Lannie, for once, seemed more engaged, though she remained silent.

Caroline didn't, maybe couldn't respond.

Ruby squared off with Lannie. "Alright girl. Let's do this. Get the mouth; I gotta get all this shit fixed anyway."

Marie stepped away from them, took Caroline's arm. Caroline gasped when Lannie threw a left hook that connected solidly with Ruby's already broken face. Ruby shook her head gently, shook her shoulders with more aggression. Lannie hit her again, this time in the hip, of all places.

Caroline gawked, slack-jawed. She couldn't help but look at Marie, dead-eyed and for all the world still bored out of her mind.

"We said hands-on."

Lannie landed two more punches. Ruby was swaying, but still on her feet, which were smattered with dark blood. She leaned against a nearby metal table, held up a hand. "Enough."

Marie jerked Caroline around toward the wall. Grip like a vise, she grabbed Caroline's wrist.

"Make a fist."

Caroline shook her head. She had started to cry, a little, at the blood and the violence.

Lannie left Ruby to her own devices and came to stand very close by.

"Make a fist," Marie repeated. "With your right hand."

Caroline did as she was told. Marie banged her hand roughly against the wall, and it hurt, and Caroline yelped. Then, she dragged Caroline's knuckles up and down the cinderblock a few times, until they were red and raw. Marie released her. Caroline clutched her battered hand, knuckles on fire where they touched her palm. She let go of her fist, blew on it, shook it, and still she winced. She took her own wrist and squeezed, sucked in air.

Behind her, she heard Ruby laugh a little. "You got the easy part. Least for now. I am going to miss your nice face and your perky attitude once they lock you up all alone."

The guard who'd originally taken Caroline from her cell sauntered over. She took Ruby by the elbow and led her toward the door. Lannie and Marie followed. The other guard approached Caroline, who now understood exactly what was happening. The fat, white zip-tie the woman placed tightly around the wrists Caroline gamely offered up filled in any lingering questions. She might not have taken a beating; but she was about to take a very great fall.


	25. Chapter 25

Caroline turned to face the door of the small interview room where she'd been penned for the past two hours. The floor rushed away, and she sat abruptly as Jane Hayden walked through. She couldn't move. Jane came around the small table in the center of the room immediately; rested two hands on Caroline's shoulders and turned her facing. Caroline flinched.

Jane scowled at her. "You okay, sport?"

"Not really," was all she could manage to get out as Jane hugged her tight.

She mustered up a small cry though, when Ruby came through next, still dressed in her light blue prison jumpsuit. The bruises on her face were just coming in. The abrasions around them had been cleaned and bandaged.

Jane grabbed up Caroline's wounded paw and held it gently for examination. She licked a thumb and ran it over a couple drabs of dried blood. "Ouch. Didn't bring your magic back pills with me. You'll have to make do until we get you out and Eleanor can see to your TLC."

"Have you spoken to Eleanor? Have you seen her?" Caroline leaned toward Jane as she sat opposite her, next to Ruby, who'd also taken a seat.

"Only been in Paris maybe an hour. Haven't been able to get her on the mobile." Jane's lips stretched across her teeth.

"Okay. Well. I'm awfully glad to see you, Jane."

"I've never been more glad to see you, Caroline. Though you do look rough." Jane replied. She nodded over to Ruby. "I'd like to introduce you to CO Vera Atkins from the SIS."

"Hullo Ms. Dawson. Sorry about what happened in the cafeteria, ma'am. And about the injuries to your hand." When Ruby, _Vera,_ Caroline corrected herself, spoke, it was muffled for the swelling in her jaw. But the rough accent was gone, replaced by a midrange, nasal, Londony public school clip.

"Hullo." Caroline sat back. Jane was here... somehow. Ruby / Vera was Secret Intelligence Service. She could ask a million questions, or she could be as soul-tired as she was and just let the other women do the talking.

Jane and Vera exchanged open glances. Jane ducked her head, and Vera began.

"I think you're going to help us nab some people we've been after for quite a few years now."

Caroline rubbed her tired eyes with the back of the hand that wasn't on fire. She was having trouble putting sights and sounds together in general. She was having particular trouble matching Vera – her tattoos, her tragic dental situation, her pallor – with the magnificent posture and diction of the woman now in front of her. She blinked, and picked Vera back up mid-stream –

"We're all over Marie and Lannie of course. They were easy to ID right off. We've been sitting on them, waiting for a line on their shot-caller on the outside. And once you and your wife entered the picture, we got a much clearer idea of the thing."

"You can't possibly think – " Caroline wanted to stand, but her legs just wouldn't.

"We don't believe you or Ms. Strathclyde are involved in the theft, or this scheme, ma'am. In any way other than as victims."

Victim. Caroline did not think of herself as a victim. She wouldn't start, either. What she would start doing was being very angry. As soon as she had some sleep. And clean water. And decent food.

Jane stretched a hand out.

Caroline took it. "It's okay?"

Vera spoke again, voice softer, smoother, than Caroline could believe. "You're clear of suspicion, ma'am. Right now, we're just stamping paperwork. Direct orders down from on high at the DGSI, the French. They've finally agreed with us that you're not our target. You'll be out hopefully within the hour."

"Really?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Jumper looks nice with your eyes, but they've got the stuff you were wearing." Jane added, always the helpful one. "I grabbed you a hoodie off a stall on the street, best I could do."

"Okay."

"I can't say much, but do you have any questions?" Vera stood. "I need to get back to the infirmary. I'm not done in here."

What a massively shitty assignment this woman had, Caroline realized. The last two – or was it three – days had almost killed her. How in the world could anyone survive more? "I have a lot of questions. Obviously. But, I suppose, mostly, what now?"

"A lot," Vera replied. "You'll be released with DCI Hayden to look after you. We will want you to testify at some point, but that's a long way off. We will likely want you to confirm identification on the woman in the catacombs who set you up. We believe she's still in France. In Paris, actually, waiting for the payoff. We're looking for her. So we'd like you to stay close."

"You think it's that daft old woman running the show? Then what about Eleanor? The ransom? Does she know about any of this? Is she safe?"

"We had an agent on her," Vera answered, sort of. "It seems though that she's slipped the net. She and the friend who's with her. Your wife stopped using her mobile. Turned if off and even stripped the SIM. We had her GPS locked through it when we didn't have eyes. We haven't been able to track her since early this afternoon."

"Oh."

Jane came over and took Caroline by the elbow, helped her to stand. "French are all over the CCTV. We'll find Eleanor soon. Let's get you in some clothes for now. Back to your flat, and please God into a shower."

"Thank you, Jane." Caroline ignored her friend's smart mouth. She hugged her again instead, extra tight for good measure, made sure to slide her armpits up and down the side of her sport jacket a couple times. "Now you won't mind the smell so much." In any other circumstance she would have accompanied that with a grin. Instead she sneered and jerked away.

Jane slung an arm over her shoulder. "I know, Caroline. I know. Come on. Let's go find Eleanor."

* * *

The taxi hummed quietly at the red light. When it turned green, they whirred off. Away from the massive concrete and glass edifice of the _Commissariat_ in the 14th and toward the Marais. Vehicles surrounding irritated Caroline differently, louder or even silent depending on their size, all of them insufferable for impeding their progress.

"Tell me how you got here, Jane, and what you know. I'm going to close my eyes, but I'm still listening." Caroline put her head back and did close her eyes. If Jane hadn't been here in the car, she probably couldn't have done that, wouldn't have felt safe enough. But she trusted her friend. And she was tired.

"Well I got a call from Meg yesterday," Jane began -

"Meg? Eleanor's friend Meg?"

"Yes. Eleanor's friend Meg. And you're just listening."

"Alright."

"She called me and filled me in on the whole circus. Or most of it. I suppose there's a lot I still don't know. Mostly told me to high-tail it to Paris and get your ass out of French jail. Said she'd help as she could, that she'd certainly arrange to get you out -"

"Help as she could? How in the world – "

"Not important. My job was getting you sprung. She and Eleanor were apparently working on whoever set you up. That's where Vera and the SIS come in. Seems you stumbled into an active investigation on a group running an extortion racket, same way they did you, hitting mostly Brits in Paris. They've been on it since an American girl was jailed last year."

"Are we almost there yet?" Caroline rolled down the window. She shifted in the seat. Ran a finger at the collar of the black _'J'adore Paris'_ hoodie with the Eiffel Tower _'I'_ Jane had so thoughtfully provided. "Can you turn up the air please," she called to the driver, who nodded.

"You sure you're alright, Caroline?"

"I'm fine. Keep going."

"Well you're the first they've seen the woman who called herself Ginny Graham come out to do the deed herself. Either a link in the chain broke and someone did as Eleanor has and refused to play along and set up the next mark, or you're a special case."

"I don't see how." Caroline really couldn't. She felt less like a special case than she ever had in her whole life.

"We're looking into it."

"We – you – and the SIS?"

"And the DGSI, French internal intelligence. Won't even try to mangle that. This mouth's not made for languages."

"What's Meg got to do with it, again?" Caroline turned to the taxi window once more as they crossed the Seine. Thank God, they were almost to the flat. Sort of. Not near enough with this goddamn traffic. She really couldn't stand to be in this car anymore. She did smell, badly, and so did everything. And it was so hot. And bright out. Inexplicably fidgety, she turned back to Jane. "When can we start looking for Eleanor?"

"Hate to say it but the best bet is to stay at the flat and wait." Jane grimaced. Caroline wouldn't stand for that and she knew it.

"We'll see." Caroline would have made a fuss, but she just didn't have the energy. Still - she'd muster it once they got back and she could change. Sit somewhere that wasn't this cramped, stinking car, and think. She had a bad feeling about Eleanor's missing in action status.


	26. Chapter 26

The taxi hummed quietly at the red light. When it turned green, they whirred off. Away from the massive concrete and glass edifice of the Commissariat and toward the Marais. Vehicles surrounding them irritated Caroline differently, louder or even silent depending on their size, all of them insufferable for impeding their progress.

"Tell me how you got here, Jane, and what you know. I'm going to close my eyes, but I'm still listening." Caroline put her head back on the seat and did close her eyes. If Jane hadn't been here in the car, she probably couldn't have done that, wouldn't have felt safe enough. But she trusted her friend. And she was tired.

"Well I got a call from Meg yesterday," Jane began -

"Meg? Eleanor's friend Meg?"

"Yes. Eleanor's friend Meg. And you're just listening."

"Alright."

"She called me and filled me in on the whole circus. Or most of it. I suppose there's a lot I still don't know. Mostly told me to high-tail it to Paris and get your ass out of French jail. Said she'd help as she could."

"Help as she could? How in the world – "

"Not important. My job was getting you sprung. She and Eleanor were apparently working on whoever set you up. That's where Ruth and the SIS come in. Seems you stumbled into an active investigation on a group running an extortion racket, same way they did you, hitting mostly Brits in Paris. They've been on it since an American girl was jailed last year."

"Are we almost there yet?" Caroline rolled down the window. She shifted in the seat. Ran a finger at the collar of the black 'J'adore Paris' hoodie with the Eiffel Tower 'I' Jane had so thoughtfully provided. "Can you turn up the air please," she called to the driver, who nodded.

"You sure you're alright, Caroline?"

"I'm fine. Keep going."

"Well you're the first they've seen the woman who called herself Ginny Graham come out to do the deed herself. Either a link in the chain broke and someone did as Eleanor has and refused to play along and set up the next mark, or you're a special case."

"I don't see how." Caroline really couldn't. She felt less like a special case than she ever had in her whole life.

"We're looking into it."

"We – you – and the SIS?"

"And the DGSI, French internal intelligence. Won't even try to mangle that. This mouth's not made for languages. Anyway, my timing was good. Things were going to get very sticky for you with Vera being beat-up. You were about to become a bona-fide jailhouse badass."

"What's Meg got to do with it, again?" Caroline turned to the taxi window once more as they crossed the Seine. Thank God, they were almost to the flat. Sort of. Not near enough with this goddamn traffic. She really couldn't stand to be in this car anymore. She did smell, badly, and so did everything. And it was so hot. And bright out. Inexplicably fidgety, she turned back to Jane. "When can we start looking for Eleanor?"

"Hate to say it but the best bet is to stay at the flat and wait." Jane grimaced. Caroline wouldn't stand for that and she knew it.

"We'll see." She would have made a fuss, but she just didn't have the energy.

* * *

Caroline leaned against the rough plaster wall outside the door to the flat. She'd handed Jane her reclaimed bag, which would be promptly binned because she never wanted to see it again. The other woman was rummaging for keys they both hoped were still inside. It seemed there were a million things Caroline needed to catch up on and do and check and remember and not one of them would stay in her brain.

"Eureka."

"What," Caroline muttered.

"I found them." Jane wiggled they key in the fidgety lock and jiggled it, finally grinding it open.

"I know that. I know what you mean. Just when did you start saying that?"

"Since my new girl is an American." Jane tossed the keys on the kitchen counter and began inspecting the small space.

Caroline threw herself onto the couch. "Of course she is."

"What's that mean?" Jane stuck her head into the bathroom, the bedroom, before coming to sit next to Caroline.

"You'll date anything with tits that moves."

"You got yourself quite a mouth after only two days in jail." Jane rose again, crossed to the small kitchen and came back with two glasses of water. "Wash it out with this."

" _Merci._ Forget anything bad I've ever said or implied about you." Caroline gulped it down and handed it back.

Jane made a second trip. This time she stopped and opened the fridge. A wave of heady cheese that had gone old washed over Caroline. She rose and dashed to the bathroom, her throat clicking and mouth thick with saliva.

Head over the toilet she heard Jane come in behind her. The sink ran. Panting from voiding the water she'd chugged and gagging on air, she felt a cool washcloth at the back of her neck.

"Thanks," she choked out.

"That was probably for the best." Jane helped her up. She handed Caroline more water.

She took it, swished, gargled, drank some. Rinsed her hand that was beginning to scab at the knuckles under cool water.

Jane took it and patted dry. "Rough go. I'm sorry."

"Yes. I am too." Caroline caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She looked jaundiced and drawn, the skin at her neck looser. Her eyes were made dim, recessed by the dark half-moons under them. She'd hated seeing Eleanor like this.

She ran shaking fingers through her bangs. Turned, and headed back to the living room.

Jane took her elbow. "You should sleep. Finish the water, have another glass, and sleep. I won't open the fridge until you're out cold, but I'm sure you have some crackers and you should have a couple of those, too. You're cashed."

"Alright. But one more thing." Caroline went to the deplorable bag of bad memories and dug through for her cell, found it black. "Of course it's dead."

"Plug it in. It'll charge while you sleep. You know I'll do what I can. There's still more than finding Eleanor to be tied up. Go on you."

She did as she was told. She paused at the foot of the bed. Pictured Eleanor there, the two of them curled up together and blissful. Safe. Why did that feel so far away?

She stripped off the cheap tourist sweatshirt, turned to close the bedroom door. She shut it, then opened it again. After all, it was just Jane outside. Modesty was a little past where their friendship stood. Bit of a running joke, really – Jane would always wink and cluck when she saw Caroline in her bra, and Caroline would smack her. Still, she felt exposed. Caroline re-closed the door, but then began to feel agitated. That wouldn't work either. Back open.

"Jane?"

"Yes?" she appeared, her already big brown eyes wider.

Had she really sounded like her friend needed to be concerned? "Umm. This is weird. But will you stand here in the room? Don't face me or anything. Look at your phone or something. Just stand there so I can see you."

"Of course." Jane crossed her arms, stared at Caroline. She smiled and it was unsteady, and then she frowned. "You'll keep telling me how I can help you."

"Yes. I suppose. Thanks." Caroline finished changing into pajamas. She slid under the duvet and let out a happy cry. A bed had never felt so soft.

Jane started to walk off.

"Wait, please. Could you just sit on the bed for a while? With the door open?"

"No problem." Jane took a seat at the foot. She grabbed Caroline's ankles and gave them a tender shake.

* * *

The small elevator shuddered under Eleanor's low heels as it flew up the side of the Eiffel Tower. Holly took her hand and gave it a squeeze. As though she needed reassurance. Internally rolling her eyes, she reciprocated the gesture.

"It's nice to have someone around right now. It's nice to have you around in particular," she threw in. Not really. Not at all. She'd tried to lose Holly several times and grab a new prepaid phone. She'd have to risk using this one again. It would be easy enough to duck into the loo and text Meg or Jane when they got up to the Jules Verne – if she could get a signal. She'd long ago texted Caroline's phone with the only necessary information in the off chance her wife would get the message.

If nothing else she knew she'd be the one picking her company up here. The restaurant half-way up the Tower was absolutely exclusive. You couldn't even get on the elevator without checking in at the base and your name on a list. Once there, you were checked in again. And Holly was right – getting on the list was near impossible without months of notice. Or friends and money. She'd made great friends with the maître d', sommelier, and the manager when she and Caroline had come for dinner. Eleanor had been promptly wait-listed when she'd called tonight and would be assured of privacy and safety while she waited for someone she trusted to give the all clear.

In the meantime, she'd narrow the funnel for all involved. Plus, the champagne and desserts really were to die for.

 _"Bonsoir. Bienvenue."_ A lovely older gentleman greeted them. He kissed Eleanor on the cheek, and they stepped into the cozy waiting area. Through the floor to ceiling windows surrounding, at their feet stood the whole of Paris in the dusky beginnings of sunset.

 _"Bonsoir,"_ Eleanor replied.

"We'll have your table shortly, Ms. Strathclyde. You may step outside to look if you want, or wait here."

"I'd love to take a look," Holly interjected.

"Yes." Eleanor pulled her wrap tighter. They followed their escort down a tight hallway until they came to a set of stairs leading out to the Verne's private balcony.

"Only ten minutes, madame," he bowed just a little, and left them.

"It'll be windy." Holly adjusted Eleanor's pashmina.

"Yes it will," Eleanor replied. The chivalry was nauseating.

It was very gusty but eerily quiet when they stepped outside. No urban racket, no shouting or music or cars or birds. No one else on the balcony, people below too far away to matter. Far above it all they had the city of lights all to themselves.

Holly stepped to the railing at the edge of the overlook and reached out to Eleanor.

She stepped forward with a charming smile and joined her. The woman's hand made her way between Eleanor's shoulder blades, and she tried to stay relaxed. There was still every possibility Holly was in on, or orchestrating, all of this. In which case Eleanor very much needed to be of sound mind and body for her to pull it off.

"This is the perfect spot." Holly edged closer. "There's no need for you to sit around worrying."

"You're absolutely right. This is just the thing." Eleanor leaned into the other woman and remembered when it had been Caroline here, and the choice they'd made together. _'It won't be much longer now,'_ she told her hollow heart. Who knew that Paris was such a lonely town?

The steady breeze stilled for just a moment. She leaned into the quiet. The disappearing sun flushed the horizon crimson and the world became suddenly more vibrant. The canopy greener, the skyline in bolder relief. In the distance and so almost at eye level, Sacre Coeur shattered the blue with its sparkling gold dome. Caroline was nearer. She could feel it. They'd find each other again. Simply being together would fix everything and all would be put right. Surely that would be how it would go once they'd finished with this mess.


	27. Chapter 27

There is a moment before the sun disappears into the night when the world is dimmer but the colors are deeper and richer and the expression 'rose colored glasses' has meaning. Caroline pondered this as she and Eleanor ascended in the small elevator. Tonight, dinner at the Eiffel Tower. Tomorrow the a stop for a macaron, the Orangerie and Monet's Water Lilies. Then, if she could swing it with Eleanor, a trip to the catacombs. Their Parisian vacation had no right to be so flawless.

It was warm, late afternoon. They were only two people flying up the side of the Tower save the crisp, grey-haired man employed to push the right buttons at the right time and be courteous. They slowly came to a stop. Chimes ringed them onward, out and into the restaurant. The _maître d_ ' took their light coats and escorted them to a table right on the window at the northeast edge of the white linen-ed and shining silver dining room.

"Have you been here before?" Caroline went right to the edge of the windows, didn't quite press her nose to them. She gaped openly at the view before they sat. There's being a traveler and being a tourist and right now she didn't care which the people on the continent thought she might be.

"No. I've never had anyone to share it with," Eleanor replied. "But I've always wanted to come. When we booked Paris this time, I immediately booked dinner."

"Well you've nailed shut the coffin on romance. What'll I ever do to surprise you and top this?"

"I know you'll find a way. And please don't talk about romance and coffins in the same sentence," Eleanor insisted as they sat.

A mousy-haired girl in a white shirt and black tie a came by and deftly filled their slender water glasses. Caroline thanked her, then recognized her - "Excusay-moi, but you work at the Cafe Elsinore in the Marais, don't you?"

" _Oui_." The girl offered them a tight-lipped smile and swiftly spirited herself away before Caroline could follow up.

She made a face at Eleanor, who shrugged and made one back, until they were both too distracted by where they were to think any more of it. Next to her, through the thick glass, the ornate iron piers of the Tower curved away up and down. The swoops and circles bordered the vista to the horizon that began with the Arc de Triomphe, then followed the Champs Elysees to the green of the Tuileries, to the just-glowing grey rooftop of the Louvre. Luxury at its pinnacle. A world Caroline had come to accept and enjoy and the slide into Cinderella's silk shoe had been uncomfortably easy.

She wished, a fleeting one, that Celia could be with them. Maybe not with them right now – but could have visited here. Caroline wondered if seeing the world this way, Notre Dame and its great Gothic spider legs planted firmly in the midst of history, the vigilant and judgmental jury of Goddesses looking down from the roof of the D'Orsay, she wondered if it all might have made this whole experience of living a larger one for her mother. Certainly, even through her acerbic lens, everything might seem softer.

And these were her thoughts even before the food and wine came, as the sun set and the lights in the Verne dimmed around them and their intimate cocoon.

Four buttery courses and glasses of wine later Caroline's thoughts were fuzzier and warmer. Impressions of immediate textures and smells, half-baked ruminations about the necessity of mortality, the way that girl she'd bunked with her first time at summer camp had always smelled of bubble gum, missing her children but loving their adventures, wondering if world peace were a realistic concept, all shimmered and flitted in and out of her mind like the million tiny white and orange lights of the city below. It was all set to a piano and clarinet-heavy roaring-twenties jazz track barely audible in the background and Eleanor's brown eyes shining in the candlelight.

A great sense of philanthropy and nostalgia overtook her. She said something she'd meant to for a while but didn't know how until this moment. "Let's move to Cayton. It's time to be closer to your parents. And I'm ready."

With her silver dessert spoon Eleanor gently tapped the dome of the bitter chocolate souffle just served alongside their champagne. It cracked and yielded to a center hovering simultaneously in solid, liquid, and gaseous states. She took a small bite and scowled at the wisps of rising steam. "What makes you say that?"

Caroline had expected her wife to be greatly, or perhaps even mildly, shocked by the proposal. Or at least pleased. Clearly she wasn't. "I just think it's time. That I retire. That we try something different. After this past week I'd say Paris, but it's too far away from George and Margaret."

"I would've thought you'd consider distance an advantage." Eleanor set the spoon next the ramekin. She fidgeted with the handle, flipping it back and forth with tiny thunks on the white linen tablecloth.

"At one time I _would_ have."

"I don't know if it's a good idea. I swore, you did too, we'd never do it. It's tempting, but I -" Eleanor tapered off and left her chocolate treat alone, which told Caroline everything she needed to know about her wife's feelings.

"I know what we've said. But things change. Your parents have changed. Your mother, at least, has."

"Oh yes. Now madder than a hatter but still meaner than a pit viper. I wouldn't say it makes her easier to be around. Why - and why now?"

"Because you gave me my mother," Caroline finally confessed. "Or you let me keep her. And I loved her as much as I couldn't stand her, but I wouldn't give back any single second of the time we had together. You deserve that too."

"No one deserves Margaret. Not even Dad." Eleanor sighed. "I never think I could love you more but then sometimes you're generous and considerate and then I do. But it's just the wine talking. You've made noises before about retirement and that's all they are. You love your job. And you've never wanted to move to Cayton. I was glad you kept me away."

"It might be the wine." Caroline hoisted her coupe glass of bubbly and let the sparkle tickle her nose as she sipped. Eleanor wasn't nearly as enthusiastic about this as she wanted her to be, but she was going to persist, because generosity seemed like the right thing to do after the universe had let her wife live and perched them at the top of it all. "But I expect you to hold me _to_ this. Because I've known for a while it's the right thing to do." Known since that last round of chemo when Eleanor had awoken the next morning half dead, circles under her eyes purple and bruised as Caroline's heart. She'd known since she'd wondered if Margaret might outlive her only remaining daughter, and what that would feel like.

"Well the rest of the family won't object," Eleanor finally offered a little smile. "William can't ever get enough of Dad. Flora would love spending more time with Lily. We'll have to get a Bechstein for the music room. Lily won't share the Kawai."

Caroline laughed and noted the absence of the subjunctive in Eleanor's reply. She was gaining ground. "She can start saving up from her allowance now. I'm sure a year will buy her a new piano. She'll finish at Agnes Bates. So will I. But after that – "

"You're serious about this, aren't you?"

"Well yes. Now's as good a time as any. I keep waiting, I don't know, for a _sign_? But that's just a stalling tactic. The house is finally worth something again after the Brexit depression. Though it might be smarter to lease – "

"I am not dealing with renters. Dear lord. It'll be hard enough leaving our home without seeing the damage inflicted on the place we made so many memories."

"I suppose not." Caroline set down her champagne. She picked up her coffee and cradled it in her palms. The fine china was warm but not hot. Their dinner had been indulgent but not gratuitous, as had their vacation. Everything was centered, and safe, so was she. "I _am_ serious, though. I'm not sure I'm excited about it – but I want to do it. Maybe we could find me a project out there."

"I wouldn't dare move without one. The last thing I want is for you to take your boredom out on me. You can oversee renovations on the West Wing. It'll keep mother obsessed with you and out of my hair." Eleanor finished with a soft toss of her short waves.

"Fine way of showing your gratitude."

"I have others you'll enjoy more. But right now I'm going to finish my souffle before it falls." Eleanor fell silent and Caroline felt her drift away.

"Alright. We can talk about it more tomorrow as we stroll aimlessly through the Tuileries." Watching her wife finish the final course of any meal could keep Caroline happy at any occasion, but this moment was particularly decadent. Though she could tell Eleanor's joy was hard-pressed. For the life of her she couldn't understand why.

It took Eleanor all of her dessert to come to the heart of her uncertainty. "What if you're unhappy. What if you resent me. What if -"

Caroline shot a hand toward her wife's. She pushed her drinks out of the way, took Eleanor's hand and leaned almost across the entire table. "I won't leave you again. I promise. I cross my heart and swear to God and every bottle of wine on the planet I'll never be that _stupid_ again." What had she been thinking? How was she so lucky Eleanor had forgiven her at all? "Please believe me. You - this - this is it for me. I think you know that, I really do."

"I do," Eleanor came back softly. "I do. But I suppose with the cancer stepping right into the middle of our great reconciliation, perhaps I feel less certain about things now than I have in the past."

"That's why I want to go to Cayton. It's exactly why. Just when I think we've found all we can in our marriage we find more. I trust that now. It's going to be hard but there's two of us to take that on, and we can. Your parents need us and we need them. You do, at least. Celia and Alan were what I needed. After all these years putting things right with Margaret, this is the way to - it's the way things should end up."

"I thought maybe that might be true." Eleanor picked up her champagne. "I wondered if it might be the last bridge to mother. But I wasn't sure and I didn't feel like I could ask you without - asking you for all of it. In a sort of implied way and that's not how I like to do things."

"Implying is how you like to do a lot of things, but not the big ones," Caroline corrected. "So now it's me asking you if we can do this."

"Well then, yes."

Caroline sat back in her chair as her former torpor inched back into the night. "I like it when you say yes to me, Eleanor."

Both women enraptured by place and this new space and transition they were to occupy together, they gave up the table only when the restaurant very politely kicked them out. Eleanor took Caroline's hand as they left and tugged her out onto the balcony for a final windswept moment.

Caroline draped her arm over her wife's thin shoulders and pulled her close, sheltering her from the cool spring breeze.

Eleanor clutched her navy pashmina and snugged right in. "Thank you," she whispered with a kiss on Caroline's cheek. "I'm sure after a month with Margaret I'll be cursing you. But right now, thank you. You don't have to do this. You didn't even have to offer - so thank you."

"Of course," Caroline responded. "I won't be all bad. Afternoon walks on the bluffs and the boardwalk. Seaside sunrises. It's the right thing to do. For you and us. It's how this works, isn't it? Give and take. I took for a great while – "

"You gave." Eleanor pushed her hand softly at the center of Caroline's chest. "Always. In your own way. This past year you gave me everything I needed and more. For God's sake you went to see an analyst. Of your own volition."

A chill gust howled by. Caroline pulled her wife closer. A soft rain began to fall. Above the city, under the clouds, the black night was still. The surface of the Seine below rippled as the tour boats trolled silently through the lights. Everything she needed was here, right now; everything she wanted just in front of her. Nicely shaped and secure and it made her happy and brave.


	28. Chapter 28

Caroline woke in the dark, wiped salty tears from her eyes as she sat up on the bed in the small flat. How very wrong she'd turned out to be in that moment that now felt a lifetime away. With no notice or fanfare, a little gang of evil had swept through like the indiscriminate tide or a petulant child to smash her beautiful sandcastle.

The knuckles on her right hand ached where Lannie had scraped them across the cinder blocks in the jail. She put them to her mouth and perhaps reflexively with the pose, Caroline sobbed. She was safe – safer. But she didn't feel that way. No longer terrified by her incarceration, instead, she was loose in the wide world but still felt caged. The gnawing anxiety that had taken hold inside had hitched a ride right along with her after she'd been released. And worst of all, she felt the black was going to stay with her a very long time. The only way to know if her new guest was a permanent resident, the only light at all, would be in finding Eleanor.

"Jane?"

Jane came to the door. She pulled back the curtain to reveal a murky twilight and clicked on the overhead. "Hey you."

"Any news on Eleanor?"

"No. Last CCTV they have on her is at that little market across the street, with the Holly woman. After that we've got nothing. She's not officially missing so we're a little hamstrung on the investigative authority. Two jurisdictions pissing it out, local and national, and the latter won't take my word for it she's not in on things, somehow."

"But that doesn't make any sense."

"Tell me about it." Jane drummed her fingers on her thigh. "So it's you and me. You look less like a zombie. You eat something, put on some clothes, and let's go find her. I miss her too."

Caroline rolled out and up. She pawed through the small dresser in the closet to find jeans that would do but no shirt that would. On top of the pile in the hamper at her feet lay, rumpled, the tee she'd given Eleanor at Christmas. She picked it up with a smile. She assumed that Eleanor had worn it to bed last night, perhaps to feel closer to her. But when she brought it to her nose, it wasn't right. At all. It wasn't Eleanor who'd slept in it.

She scowled as she held it out in front of her.

Jane piped up over her shoulder. "Here I was thinking that hoodie I got you was one of a kind."

"No," Caroline murmured. "It wasn't, was it. Is my phone charged? Have I got any messages?"

"Oh right. Yes. Text from El, in fact, from earlier." Jane disappeared into the living room.

Caroline followed, took the charged phone and scowled at it much the same way she had at the shirt, until she began to howl with manic laughter. One message, easily deciphered.

 _"J'adore Paris. xxx"_

"Of course." Caroline hustled back to the bedroom and threw on whatever was at hand. She tied a scarf around her neck and donned her jacket, held Jane's out to her. "Come on. Let's go get my wife."

* * *

The sun burned the horizon red and finally incinerated the last of Eleanor's optimism and patience. Her hands became fists. She forced them to relax only to grab and strangle the railings of the balcony outside the restaurant. From here she and Caroline had seen not just the city, but a new world. A new life. They'd felt as though they could imagine it all, and have it. What a terrible joke that had been. "Even when it feels like you can see everything, there are always things just out of sight. At the edges. Things you miss, until it's too late."

"What do you mean by that?" Holly looked at her, turned to lean against the railing, looking so suave as the breeze lifted her golden blonde bangs.

"I just need to use the restroom." Eleanor excused herself and hurried back inside.

She dashed into the bathroom without looking to see if Holly followed, closed the heavy door on the cramped stall. The Verne was luxe, but there still wasn't a lot of room to wedge a restaurant halfway up the Tower. She flipped open the phone. No signal. She turned it off and on. No signal.

Was Caroline alright? Was Jane here yet? Were there new demands? There was so much more she needed to know before she could make any play, much less the right one. She was safe, perhaps, but very isolated.

"Damnit."

When she emerged she discovered Holly hadn't come after her. That was odd. She pushed through into the main lobby.

An older woman, white hair delightfully mussed and smiling sweetly, waylaid her with a wave.

"Can we talk, Eleanor?"

A nice-looking elderly woman. So very non-threatening. Reminded you of every stock photo you'd seen of a grandmother dishing out biscuits - who happened to know Eleanor's name.

"You're Ginny Graham. How - "

"We can always get to you. Money doesn't buy you everything, dear. Particularly when you're equally matched. It's gratifying I finally get to teach that directly to someone like you. Put that ego in check."

"You're right," Eleanor replied. "But manners and friends also go an awfully long way." She nodded to the man who'd escorted them from the elevator and table. He picked up a house phone and spoke a few quiet words.

The older woman looked around, eyes narrowed and shoulders pulling back. She took a step toward the exit leading out to the crowded public esplanade. Eleanor stepped into her path.

"You shouldn't do this," Ginny hissed. "We're both running out of time. I simply need to give you some numbers. One wire transfer and your wife is free. But only if I'm not locked up with her. This is your last chance, Eleanor. Caroline's in a real fix right now. She's been caught assaulting another inmate, or at least that's how it looks. A perfect setup. It's about to get worse for her, unless you do the right thing here."

"I don't – " Was that true?

Holly came through from the restaurant. She must've been waiting at their table. Her eyes darted to Ginny, if that was her name, then to Eleanor. "Is something wrong?"

It was hard to know who she'd spoken to. Ginny responded. "Your friend is creating problems instead of solving them."

"You've made a mistake coming here." Eleanor replied, terrified. She hoped she was right, had done the right thing in laying the trap. Behind her the elevator softly chimed. Heavy footfalls followed until they were all surrounded by large men in dark suits. They wore hang badges with the city seal and their jackets bulged at the elbows.

Ginny appeared to Eleanor for a moment as though she might try something ridiculous, and then slumped.

Holly stepped to Eleanor's side and put a hand at her elbow. "If they take her there's no guarantee she'll talk – that she'll clear Caroline."

"No. But I'll bet when the mess unravels it looks worse for her than it does for Caroline. And if it doesn't, I'll figure it out."

"Are you sure about that?" Holly took a step toward the two dark-suited men as they led Ginny away.

"No. But – I just need a moment to think."

The elevator doors began to close. But before they did fully, Ginny grinned – and winked at Eleanor.


	29. Chapter 29

_Penultimate chapter. I think I know what's happening and then Caroline tells me I'm wrong. C_ _'est la vie._

 _I'm grieving for Paris this week; grateful to the beautiful city for hosting this story. It was a gift to be able to experience Notre Dame as it was, and it seems, will be again. A testament to what we can achieve together over generations through the love of art and higher purpose._ _Merci madame, may you heal well._

* * *

When their Lyft dropped them at the curb, Caroline practically sprinted across the hardscape approach to the Eiffel Tower. She shoved aside absent-minded tourists and probably looked like she was about to do something dangerous. Jane shouted at her, but she paid no mind. She had no plan for how to get to Eleanor once they arrived at entrance to the restaurant. Of course that's where she'd chosen to make her stand. It was obvious once Caroline knew the answer.

As it turned out, Eleanor was already at the base, on the plaza, looking almost as though she'd been waiting her whole life for the moment. Caroline saw her glancing around desperately just as she arrived. She presumed she'd been looking for her.

Eleanor saw her, covered her mouth, that endearing reflexive gesture that started Caroline's heart skipping every time, as she gasped and teared up. Caroline lifted her off the ground and probably bruised her ribs when she got her arms around her, but she didn't care. She couldn't catch her breath herself after the run from the street and the sight of her wife. It killed her to do it, but she released Eleanor, put her hands to her knees, and huffed.

"Where are the police?" Eleanor was still, for some reason, looking around. "Jane, did you bring them – or – they're not here?"

"Just us," Jane answered as she caught up. "But as soon as I saw you, I called my contact at the Commissariat. I expect them here shortly. We didn't bring anyone along though. Just playing a hunch you'd be here."

"More than a hunch." Caroline had not moved an inch away from her wife and grabbed her again. She looked her up and down, ran her hands shoulders to hips and still wouldn't let go.

"I assumed they were here," Eleanor started, "Because they took Ginny – "

"Graham? She's here?" Caroline turned on her heel, surveyed the throng around them, and again felt watched.

"Was here – up at the Verne. Two men, suits, earpieces, badges and everything took her, but it all happened very quickly –" Eleanor tapered off and stared vacantly. "It was smoke and mirrors, wasn't it? All of it. One more run at me, at this. How could I have been so stupid? She was making one last desperate play – but she'd still planned ahead, hadn't she? She's gone - isn't she?"

There was a hopelessness in Eleanor's voice, eyes, that winded Caroline more thoroughly than the sprint across the plaza.

"Eleanor that was the older woman from the lobby up there?"

Caroline's head swiveled as some strange woman stuck her nose in the conversation. She stood awkwardly, one hand in her slacks, the other at the back of her neck, and too close to Eleanor. "She's the one who set this all up?"

"Yes," Eleanor answered her quietly.

"I'm sorry, who're you?" Caroline thrust a chin at the newcomer who seemed remarkably chummy with her wife. Chummy enough to be holding her arm as they'd come out from under the base of the Tower. At this moment Caroline knew, absolutely knew, who'd been wearing that t-shirt in the hamper.

Angry, she finally let go of Eleanor to confront the skinny bitch who'd dared to have anything approaching intimacy with her wife. Inches from her now, she asked again. "Who are you?"

If it hadn't been the familiar feel of Eleanor's hand at her shoulder gripping her from the back, Caroline would've jumped a foot in the air at the touch.

"It's my friend Holly. The investigator. She's been trying to help."

"Doing a shitty job of it," Caroline shot back.

Her temper flared again as Eleanor looked wide eyed at Jane, who only shook her head softly in response.

"I'm quick enough to gather you're the long-lost Caroline." The Holly woman grinned at her own joke.

Caroline hated her for it, even more for Eleanor's lack of recoil. "Yes, well, we're all set here. You can be off now. Thanks so very much."

"I think we need a minute to ourselves." Eleanor took Caroline's hip and steered her away. It was maddening and tremendously comforting at the same time.

They retreated to an empty bay next to a closed ticket kiosk. As the hour struck, the Tower began to sparkle as they stood there staring at each other, then up into the glittering pillar of light soaring to a pinnacle high above.

The silence became awkward. That made Caroline angry instead of sad, until Eleanor, the first to speak of course, reached over with a soft touch to smooth the crinkle in her brow.

"I'm so sorry, Caroline."

"Am I really here right now? For Christ's sake, I was in _jail_ this morning." As she looked at the tourists strolling by, cars passing on the boulevard, even the massive, solid structure of the Tower itself, Caroline felt as though she were seeing everything through a thick pane of glass. It wasn't like a dream. It was like reality from a distance. Like looking down on the world and seeing it all but feeling none of it.

"You're here. I'm here. That's not changing."

Their backdrop glittered on through another very long hug, Caroline's head on Eleanor's shoulder. She tried to kiss her wife, couldn't. She could only manage a chaste peck on cheek.

Eleanor returned the gesture. But she lingered, thick warm lips on Caroline's face, and that was okay. "Now that I've got a proper chance to be with you, we have a lot to catch up on. I think perhaps a lot to do, still, tonight." She brushed a hand at Caroline's bangs.

"Yes. But we're not doing it with that stray dog you've picked up. I don't like her."

"Of course you don't." Eleanor glanced at Holly and Jane, who were conversing.

Caroline guessed were exchanging notes. She didn't like that. Hoped her friend had the good sense to keep her mouth shut about – everything. "Can we stay here another minute," Caroline asked. "I don't really care about anything else right now."

"Neither do I. So let's go."

"Go? But what about Jane and Holly and Ginny and the rest of all of it? I'm sure the police will want to talk to you."

"Do you care about that right now?" This time Eleanor laid her head on Caroline's shoulder.

"I suppose I don't." Caroline buried her face and her fingers in the soft amber waves. She was home and the world was back on its axis. But it was far from right. She was far from right. The recovery from this shitshow was going to blowback on her family, there was no way it wouldn't. She held her wife hard and glared over at Holly. She had no reason to suspect her of anything. She was glad, in fact, Eleanor hadn't been alone in all this. But the woman still felt wrong.

Eleanor caught her chin and turned her gaze. "Don't think about that now. Come on. Let's go."

"Where?"

"Do you care?"

"I suppose I don't, if we're together. But is it – safe – to strike out on our own?" Caroline felt the hard steel of her bunk on her spine and her heat rate accelerated as her breath became shorter.

"I don't know. But we're set to move any way we want, quickly and quietly. I've got us cash waiting. We'll turn off our phones. We can contact Meg or Jane, the kids, only as we need to. We can be home in Panal tomorrow and let the lawyers sort it out."

"About that – " Caroline looked over to Jane once more. Her friend stood, arms crossed, Holly next to her striking the same pose, both women staring back at her from across the way. "You're under suspicion right now. Both of us, still. Apparently the French, whatever the national agency is, they've looked into our accounts. A large amount of our assets have been transferred to a new account at a French national bank - "

"Yes. It was the first thing I did as soon as this began. No matter the situation I wanted us to have options – "

"It's not your intent that matters here, Eleanor. Jane said as much. She also said we'd do well to not, ehm, 'flee the jurisdiction' while they sort it out."

"So we're damned if we do, damned if we don't, while we try to prove a negative?"

"That's the size of it," Caroline sighed.

"Well then let's be damned together." Eleanor scowled, then grinned. "I need to spend a million hours with you before I can sleep. All of them in as close physical proximity as possible. Paris has plenty of places we can hide in the open. This can wait. I've a feeling we won't have much choice in sorting it, later."

"I like that. I can't stand the thought of being caged in the apartment right now. I certainly won't be taken _anywhere_ to answer questions." She waved at Jane until she caught her attention. Jane started toward her. Caroline shook her head. She cocked a thumb at Eleanor, shrugged, then waved again, this time a shoo'ing motion.

Jane shook her head back; held up her phone, gave a thumbs up. Permission granted to disembark.

Manic, suddenly full of dizzying, sickening freedom, Caroline began to laugh. Eleanor took her hand. They turned their back on it all and together set off into the vast promise of the Parisian night.


End file.
